


Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

by LiquidCaliban



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cruise Ship, F/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Reunion, Working Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2018-12-04 10:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 58,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11553402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidCaliban/pseuds/LiquidCaliban
Summary: Steve leaves his friends at their safe house to answer the siren song of Natasha's call, which turns out to be the foghorn on a cruise ship because...reasons. Two very minor hair-related spoilers for Infinity Wars.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Some people call me the space cowboy, some call me the gangster of love, but nobody calls me the owner of the Avengers and related properties. 
> 
> Pairing: Romanogers.
> 
> Spoilers: Two very minor hair-related spoilers for Infinity Wars from the D23 info, but anything else is just my own nonsense. 
> 
> Summary: After being apart for months with no contact, Steve gets a message from Natasha and rushes off to meet her. I shouldn't be starting new WIPs but I can't help myself.

Steve wasn’t sure why he was so nervous as he stepped off the large yellow and white ferry onto the cement pier in Corsica – although large was apparently relative, considering the massive white _Something of the Seas_ at the neighboring dock. He hitched the straps of his backpack up and made his way through the port’s gate. The past few months since the Accords debacle and putting Bucky in stasis and being on the run…he’d been waiting for this moment, this opportunity. He scratched his beard and wondered if he should have included a shave in his preparation.

Three days ago at his safe house in suburbs of Dijon he had received a ticket for the _Mega Smeralda_ , sailing from Nice to Ajaccio, and a map of the small city with a handwritten note on it that said only, ‘Tennis anyone?’ Sam had tried to talk him out of going, of course, raising the objection that it was a trap – “Dude, first a ship, then a damn island? Sitting duck!” – but Steve had shot back that the person who sent the ticket already knew where to find them, as demonstrated by its arrival. The argument had been settled by a quick trip through the backyard to the neighbors’ house, where Clint had taken a look at the note and immediately grabbed some new photos of the kids he wanted Steve to pass along. Clint hadn’t had any trouble recognizing Natasha’s handwriting either. Sam had just shaken his head in disapproval and gone back outside to play basketball with Scott, Cooper and Lila.

Now that he had arrived, Steve had to admit that his faith was a little shaken. As he walked along the harbor, he realized he had been imagining the note was just a confusing cover for anyone who might intercept the packet, something that would throw them off the trail. He really had been expecting that Natasha would be waiting when he arrived, wearing one of her leather jackets and ready with a sassy remark and a kiss on the cheek for him. The leather jacket was a stretch, given the heat. He had overheard an excited French family on the ferry discussing how lucky it was that the temperatures were unusually high for their vacation, which had prompted him to actually check the weather and change from his jeans to shorts and stuff his light jacket into his backpack. At least there was a slight breeze.

He pulled out the map Natasha had sent and looked around to orient himself. He was standing in a square with a fountain at one end and at the termination of the street he needed to follow to get to the destination where the note was. Before leaving he had searched online for tennis courts in Ajaccio and come up with a long list of results for just the clubs. Who knew how many private courts in hotels or apartment complexes were also there? When he’d asked Clint’s advice, the man had given him a long suffering look and tapped his finger against the note on the map. “Maybe look there?” ‘There’ was through the center of town and up what he could now see was a rather steep hill. Steve sighed, pulled his hat as low as he could over his sunglasses and started walking. He was sweating through his white t shirt after only a few minutes. He could at least understand the choice of location. The town was crowded with tourists from the ferry and cruise ship, speaking a wide variety of European languages; a foreigner consulting a map and looking around in confusion was a common sight. He pulled out the camera Clint had thought to give him and snapped a few pictures to fit in with the sudden crowd of chatty tourists that surrounded him.

Steve nearly jumped as a bluish-haired elderly woman with a cane seized his arm, declaring in a strong British accent, “Such fuss over the pestiferous little Corsican, but I suppose it’s our own fault for inventing sightseeing. Do help an old bird, won’t you? I can’t be expected to summit this mount solo!”

“I’m sorry, but…”

“Dear me! You’re not my grandson! Steven!” she called out shrilly if not very loudly, but not letting go of Steve’s arm. “Steven, where have you got to?”

He had to smile. He reasoned that a tour group following a woman with a sign on a pole was probably a poor choice for an ambush with all the witnesses with their cameras flashing, so he fell into step beside the woman, leaning down so it was easier for her to hold onto him. “Um, my name _is_ actually Steve, if that helps, ma’am.”

“A Yank, eh?” She surveyed him critically in spite of her bug-eyed sunglasses. “Well, I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, and you do have good manners. I’m _Mrs._ Thomas Wright, so don’t go getting any ideas, young man, though if you escort me to the top of this blasted hill, you shall be permitted to call me Dorrie. Onward and upward!”

Steve allowed her to set the pace as they walked. “So…you’re on vacation with family, Mrs. Wright?”

“Yes, we’re having a nice holiday, supposedly together, though you wouldn’t know it from the way they’ve all run on ahead. Eager to see another foolish statue. We have plenty of statues we could see at home without getting on a bloody big ship to truck us about the Med.” She managed to keep up a running conversation as they continued along. “Tom managed to weasel out of this tour but the joke’s on him because they don’t open the onboard casino in port. Poor dear needs a day off his feet, though, with his gout acting up. My daughter promised to walk the whole way with me but her brood is so fickle she can’t take an eye off them and Desmond is no help there…” She turned her head to watch a girl of about ten running in the opposite direction down the hill in the street, pursued by a harried-looking man. “Ah, there he goes after Janie. Nowadays they say it’s this or that attention disorder and give ‘em pills instead of a sound thrashing, but what does an old lady know anymore. Stop a moment and let me catch my breath.”

“Of course,” he replied, leading her under the shade of a shop’s awning.

“That’s a good lad. Ooof!” She sank onto a cast iron bench in front of a display window of pastries. “Come and sit a spell.”

“I, um…” He was eager to get to the top of the hill and find Natasha, assuming she was actually waiting for him there, but it seemed thoughtless of him to just leave the woman, who was sweating and panting slightly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but…”

“Oh, here I am keeping you all to myself when I’m sure you’ve got a pretty young thing waiting, big handsome bloke like you! You go on to meet her.”

“What? No, I just…” He absolutely wanted to get to Natasha, and he didn’t mind being thought of as her partner, but he was uneasy leaving the woman, who was very pink. He pulled a fresh bottle of water from the side of his backpack and handed it to her. “Please, have a drink. I don’t want to just leave you here by yourself.”

“Nonsense, but you are a dear to worry. Desmond will be back ‘round once he’s sorted Janie out and I’ll be ship-shape. And I’m happy to make your excuses to your ladyfriend if you are tardy. Just bring her back here for a proper introduction.”

“Sure.” He shook her hand gently. “It was very nice meeting you, Mrs. Wright.”

“Now that we’re acquainted it’s Dorrie.”

“We didn’t make it to the top,” he replied with a grin.

“I can see the little tosser from here, thanks, and that’s close enough for me.” She made a shooing motion but smiled kindly. “Off with you, now.”

With his goal in sight, Steve gave Dorrie a final wave and jogged the rest of the way up the hill. He was confronted by a wide sandy plaza leading across to the white marble monument capped by the statue of Napoleon. There were no tennis courts. He checked the map again and noted that there were apparently gardens behind the monument. Would there be tennis courts there? Frustrated rather than tired, he walked toward a stone bench on his left near a fence blocking off a drop and a view of the harbor. His heart suddenly leapt into his throat.

The cracked red clay of the sunken tennis courts beneath the wrought iron fence was the best thing he’d seen all day. This was the place. It had to be! He pushed through a rusty metal gate onto a sidewalk passing between the courts. He was here and he was going to see Natasha and he was going to tell her…

He pulled up short as he came to the end of the walkway, almost crashing into the raised concrete barrier that discouraged people from falling off the hill in addition to providing a patch of garden that was mostly tall dead grasses. What was he actually going to say to Natasha? ‘I missed you’ didn’t seem to cover it and ‘I love you’ would probably send her running in the opposite direction. Maybe.

Of course, none of that mattered if she didn’t show. He pulled his sunglasses off and tucked them into one of his cargo pockets. There was a pretty view over the orange tile roofs down to the harbor here, but, in spite of the noise at his back on the plaza, he was mostly alone. He turned in a slow circle, but the only person around was a blonde in a flowery sundress and a floppy straw hat reading a book in a wooden chair that looked like it was about to collapse. Her legs were propped up on a large wooden wire spool that had been repurposed as a table. She had very nice legs, toned and tanned, with a scar near her right ankle that looked like… He tried not to look like a pervert as he continued watching her, inching toward her as if pulled by an invisible force. That scar was so familiar.

She finally looked up from her book when he was just a few feet away. “You could at least say hi if you’re gonna undress me with your eyes.”

“Nat!” He sprinted the last few steps and leaned down to wrap her in a hug. He was afraid he’d made a foolish mistake until she grinned at him and lowered her sunglasses. He blurted out the first thing that came into his head, “You’re blonde!”

“You’re bearded,” she countered. “Take off the hat so I can get a new picture.”

“What?”

“They look at a picture when you get back on the boat and the one I used for you is clean-shaven, so I have to hack in with a new one and…just sit.” He complied, using the table as she swept off his hat and snapped a picture with her phone. “I promise I’ll explain everything – well, the usual amount of everything, anyway – if you just give me five minutes now.”

He obediently sat and watched as she pulled out a small notebook computer from a big blue striped tote bag and began typing away. The brim of her hat was covering her eyes, but he could see her worrying her lip as she worked, a small tell that he thought she would be used to controlling. He wondered if it had something to do with being comfortable with him. “You, um…I missed you.”

“You too, but I need a couple more minutes.” He looked down and fumbled with his hat, curling the brim into the right shape until she slapped the computer closed. “Okay, all set.”

“What’s all set?”

She pulled a credit card out of the bag as she tucked the computer away. “This is your pass to get on board and buy drinks and get into the room, which is 7306. Do not lose this.”

“Nat, if you could just slow down a second,” he nearly begged, reaching out to tuck a lock of disconcertingly blonde hair behind her ear. Unfortunately, his finger got stuck on a string coming out of her hat. When he tugged his finger to get it back, the hat came with it, at which point a breeze caught it.

Natasha watched after it as it sailed off toward the scrub brush at the bottom of the hill. “Well. You’ve thrown away my hat. I suppose we can consider ourselves even, then?” The tension abruptly broke and they both started laughing. He wasn’t even sure why they were cracking up, just that he hadn’t felt this happy in months. There was something about being with her that made him feel like everything was under control. Knowing her, it was.

After the laughter died down, he took a good look at the card and asked, “Is our ticket out of here that giant white ship down there?”

“Uh-huh. We’re a vacationing couple from New York and this is the first time you’ve gotten off the ship because you were jet lagged. Your last name is Miller, by the way.”

“So we’re the Millers?”

“No, I figured boyfriend/girlfriend would be easier to play. You’re Steve Miller and I’m Natasha Rogers.” She stood and made a show of adjusting her sundress, not making eye contact. “I thought you wouldn’t have trouble remembering that one, so don’t go reading into it.”

“Since when do I have memory problems?”

“It’s inevitable with your advanced age.”

He groaned, realizing he’d been set up for that one. “And you’re planning to fill me in on the rest soon?”

“Once you’re settled. I’ve got our cabin secured, so no one will be listening in.” She lowered her voice as several of people with cameras approached. “Why don’t we head back to the ship?”

He offered his arm and she took it, her fingers curling lightly around his biceps. Her hip occasionally bumped his as they walked. “Mind if I ask about the hair?”

“People notice hot blondes, but they _remember_ hot redheads,” she replied quietly with a shrug. “Blending in has become more important recently. And I don’t really have the complexion to go with darker hair. You don’t like it?”

“It looks fine. I just…I’ll get used to it, I guess.” A fleeting thought of pretty blonde Sharon Carter passed through his mind, only to be replaced with the Natasha flipping wavy blonde locks over her shoulder when she put her sunglasses back on as they walked. “I like it red.”

“Me too, but, hey. At least you look good in a beard.”

He was about to ask her if that was just a general comment about his appearance or an indication of her preference when he heard a familiar voice shouting, “I am _not_ demented and I did _not_ imagine a handsome stranger helping me to…Steve! Steve, do come here!”

He thought he heard Natasha mutter something about him and the elderly as he dragged her over to where Dorrie was arguing with a rather tall brunette flanked by two disinterested teenagers. “Mum, it’s not polite to shout down strangers in the street.”

“He’s not a stranger. He’s a kind American who assisted me when my own family drifted off.”

Steve nodded and held out his hand to the brunette. “Hi. Steve, Steve Miller.” He was irrationally proud that he’d remembered his temporary surname, but still managed to add, “I met Dorrie a few minutes ago walking up here.”

“Oh, Dorrie, is it?” she murmured before taking his hand. “Sorry Mum was causing you trouble…”

“No trouble at all. I was happy to help, Miss…”

“Ann, Ann is fine. Don’t suppose you’ve seen my husband and youngest, Mr. American Steve?”

“Phoo, Annie, I told you they went that way,” Dorrie interrupted, pointing down the hill. “I’ll be along in my own time, thank you very much.”

“Mum, I’m not just…”

“I see, now that I’ve found myself an escort you’re ever so solicitous.”

Although he felt Natasha’s nails digging into his arm as a warning not to, Steve said, “I really don’t mind walking with your mom if you need to find someone.”

“Yes, fine.” Ann threw up her hands and walked away, the two silent teens trailing her lackadaisically.

Dorrie beamed at him. “Such a fine gentleman. I’ll never stand to hear a word against Americans from now on, I’m sure. Now introduce me to your lovely friend!”

“Oh, this is…”

“Natasha Rogers,” she said, offering her hand in at nonthreatening angle. Steve had to admire how she stepped seamlessly into a persona that would seem genuine to anyone who didn’t know her, complete with altered speech cadence and body language. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well, dear. I am Mrs. Thomas Wright, Dorrie to my friends, of which your gallant husband is now one.”

“Oh, we’re not married.” Natasha actually blushed, though he couldn’t tell if it was real or part of her act. He decided it was the latter when she shot him a coy look and added, “Yet.”

He hid his own embarrassment behind an awkward laugh as Dorrie stage-whispered, “I’d get him to the altar right quick if I were you.”

“I don’t think it will be too long,” Natasha whispered back. “But we should probably be getting back to our ship.”

“Are you sailing on the _Navigator_ as well? Oh, I shall have to introduce you to my Tom. He didn’t come ashore today because…” Steve tuned out the recap and offered Dorrie the arm Natasha wasn’t holding as they began the walk downhill.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the encouragement on the first chapter!

Steve pushed the card that Natasha had given him into the slot and tried the silver door handle. Nothing. He pulled the card out and tried again. Still nothing. The small light blinked an angry red at him. He griped, “What’s so wrong with actual keys? Insert the key, turn, open.”

“Too easy for thieves. Anyway, it’s a digital world.” She reached around him and plucked the card from his hand. Without a clear sightline, she inserted it into the slot and pulled it out while a green light flashed. “In, out, twist, push. Great on doors, but sounds like awful sex.”

She had been making little remarks like that, though less explicit, since they’d met Dorrie and walked back to the ship with her. Steve had thought it was just Natasha laying the groundwork for a believable excuse to disappear the moment they were back aboard – an adventure in itself when his freshly hacked pass card had caused the entire system to crash and reboot, though he’d been waved through with sincere apologies from the crew and a fifty-dollar onboard voucher once that was sorted out. In spite of the delay, Dorrie had waited by the grand staircase for him and Natasha to appear in order to invite them to cocktails at the Champagne Bar on Deck 5 later that day so she could introduce them to Tom. She had also given them a big wink and told them to have a nice afternoon before leaving the elevator, so at least the innuendos had been successful. Steve just wasn’t sure why Natasha hadn’t dropped them yet, assuming she hadn’t really summoned him for a long-distance shipboard booty call. Not that he would be put out by the idea; prior to the team breaking up they’d had something of an arrangement that he pretended was just ‘friends with benefits’ so they could keep doing it.

Mind now clouded by memories of being in bed with Natasha, he squeezed into the cabin, which looked like a very small hotel room with the dominant feature being the bed. Maybe she hadn’t just been making excuses to Dorrie, but dropping hints to him. He made a herculean effort to stop thinking about Natasha naked and asked in a strained voice as he took in the room, “Is this it?”

“You should go see the view off the balcony. Or got take a shower.” He actually felt her gaze sweeping down from his shoulders and back again. “You’ll probably fit. Probably.” She raised her finger to her lips in a shush gesture, though he wasn’t particularly inclined to listen. She had promised to tell him what was going on when they got back to the ship then distracted him with sexy thoughts and now she was busy…decorating? He started to ask why she was attaching little silver devices that looked sort of like tiny lighting fixtures to the wall and the floor, but she waved him off. After placing a few more, she nodded with satisfaction and sat down on the bed. “If you’re not going to shower yet, join me?”

“Nat…”

“Please?” Her voice said coquette but her expression said ‘get over here before I maim you,’ so he did. The moment he was settled beside her against the headboard, she tapped one of the silver things and a cube of light sparkled around the bed for a moment before fading. “Good, now we’re free to talk.”

He waved his hand where he’d seen the light a moment before and felt a slight static charge in the air. “What was that?”

“It’s an EM waveform field that absorbs…forget the technical details. It’s the cone of silence, which should be self-explanatory, but if you need me to explain _Get Smart_ , we’re safe to talk about anything and no one can listen in when it’s active. It only works effectively when the sensors are dispersed over a small area, hence the bed. Don’t even ask why we can’t be on the couch if you don’t want me to punch you.”

He immediately shifted his gaze from the small sofa to his feet. It was probably rude to wear sneakers on the bed. He kicked his Nike cross-trainers off, causing the cone of silence to flicker bright yellow for a moment. He watched his toes flex in his white socks. “Right, so…”

“I really did miss you, Steve.” She turned so she was facing him. “I should have gotten in touch before now but I didn’t want to put you and everyone else in danger.”

“Until now?”

“Until I couldn’t avoid it anymore.” She sighed and turned back to a position where she was staring straight ahead instead of at him. “How is everyone?”

He swallowed a lump in his throat he hadn’t expected; he realized this was the first time he’d been away from his team since the rescue from the Raft. He had a moment’s doubt. “You really haven’t been in touch with Clint?”

“Better not to. How is he?”

“Clint’s good. Happy he’s got his family with him. Lila keeps asking when she’s gonna see her Auntie Nat.” He swiped at his eyes; there was something about the little girl’s connection to Natasha that got to him. “He sent some pictures of the kids. I’ve got them in my backpack.”

“Later.” She held his arm to stop him from getting up. “What about Sam and Wanda?”

“Sam’s fine. Pretty much the same as ever – you know him – but he does miss home. Same with Scott.” He wasn’t sure how much she knew about Scott, so he didn’t elaborate on the man’s bouts of depression over being separated from his daughter. Steve sighed before continuing, “Wanda…she’s getting better. We’re doing the best we can and Laura has been amazing but…”

“I didn’t know what they were planning for her on the Raft. I never would have…”

“I know.” He grasped her hand and gently worked it out of the angry fist she’d begun clenching. Sam had told him about Stark’s visit to the Raft, which Steve had worked out happened after Natasha’s flight from Avengers’ HQ. He also knew her well enough that she wouldn’t have simply handed Wanda to the wolves, had she known what was coming. He shook his head to banish the image of Wanda straitjacketed and collared. “At least the shock collar didn’t seem to leave any lasting effects.”

“Like hell it didn’t,” Natasha spat. “She’s still just a kid and Ross is a…”

Steve was glad he didn’t speak enough Russian to translate whatever she’d just called Ross. “Wanda did get a nice lift when the news broke about his special garage being destroyed.”

“It was a shame to do that to all those classic Corvettes – you know how I like ‘Vettes – but some people just deserve to have the things they love firebombed. No one got hurt. It happened on a night the local firefighters were all on a call in Shenandoah National Park. No one arrived until it was time to hose down the ashes. I just took advantage of a well-timed wildfire.” After a pause, she added, “And I may have stolen the ’67 L-88 and hidden it away for myself. But Wanda can have it if she ever learns to drive. I promise.”

“Hmm.” He had always believed that Natasha was responsible for the attack on Secretary Ross’ property – especially after Clint had given him that _grin_ when he’d asked about it – but there was still something deep in his gut that didn’t approve of unproductive revenge, no matter how deserved it was. “That…it was a blow to him, I’m sure.”

She seemed oddly cowed by his reaction. “Sorry. You want to know why I dragged you away from them.”

“You didn’t drag me. I came of my own free will. It was seven hours by train followed by five and a half on the ferry.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug against his side. “I wanted to see you. That was enough to get me here. More than enough.”

“Steve, you…” Her lips brushed against his neck as she breathed his name and snuggled against him. He was on the verge of dipping his head to kiss her when she suddenly pulled back. “There should be time for that later, but we should get down to business now.”

“Oh. Right.” He reluctantly withdrew his embrace as she opened her computer and booted it up. He tried to take solace in the fact that she had delayed rather than denied anything.

“Meet Nikolai Yakushev, a Russian oligarch who made his fortune in mining and timber after the fall of the Soviet Union. This is from a drunk and disorderly in Zurich last year.” A mugshot of a sneering man that Steve estimated to be in his mid-30s with blond hair and sparkling dark eyes appeared on the screen. “As I’m sure you guessed, all charges were dropped. Since he made some money he has expanded his interests.” A series of pictures flashed by as she clicked – small arms in wooden crates, plastic-wrapped white bricks, scantily clad women…

Steve felt his brows draw in tightly. “He’s a pimp?”

“I think he prefers to think he’s running a high-end escort service, but yes. His people maintain a pipeline of pretty girls from poor rural villages direct to the brothels of Europe. This is all really shitty, but it’s not why I wanted you here.” The picture changed to a younger Yakushev assisting an older man into a car. “His father was high-ranking KGB and helped him get his start. Yuri had the number to call out Red Room assets when needed, among others. Nikolai inherited those numbers.”

It took him a moment to put things together, but when he did, Steve was angrier than ever. “What did he make you do?”

“He couldn’t make me do anything. I was freelancing by that time, but I knew his reputation so I stayed away. I’d heard stories…” She may have shivered or it may have been his imagination. “He didn’t just want people dead, he wanted them to suffer and he wanted everyone to know they’d suffered. I don’t know if he fits the definition of a sociopath, but there’s definitely something wrong with him. He hasn’t been cutting off many extremities lately – or having his underlings do it – but he’s still someone I keep an eye on. You never know when an asshole with money and power is going to decide he wants more of either or both.” She scrolled through a few more pictures that looked like they’d been taken at a crime scene, full of blood splatter and gore, before coming back to the mug shot. “Interpol flagged a known arms dealer missing both trigger fingers last week, the day after a black market shipment of 10kg of Plutonium-239 they were tracking from Pakistan went missing.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it does not. The morons let the original sale happen because they thought they could catch an even bigger fish with such tempting bait, as if allowing nuclear material to pass the first checkpoint is an acceptable risk!” There was a crackle of electricity around the bed as she slammed her fist through the cone of silence. He slipped his arm around her shoulders again and pulled her closer. “Sorry. I’ve been more pissed off at bureaucracy than usual lately.”

He had to smile. “Then you think this Yak guy is the buyer?”

“Yakushev,” she corrected, “but yeah. From the intel I’ve gathered, he’s the prime target. He has a yacht with a fairly predictable course charted along the Côte d’Azur that repeats every few days.”

“And this ship full of tourists happens to be following the same route,” Steve finished, catching on. For all its bulk, the cruise ship was a regular fixture in the ports it visited, disgorging faceless tourists who stayed for a day and then disappeared, to be replaced by another set on a similar ship the following day. “What’s our play?”

“If everything goes according to plan, he won’t be in Toulon, then we’ll conduct observation only in Saint-Tropez. The ship makes port in Monaco in three days and my sources have Yakushev meeting with the seller that night. We’ll probably have to play it like we lost track of time and missed the ship, then meet it at the next port, but I think we can pull it off. I’ve got some designer clothes that will get us into the casino to match my Royal Bank account.”

Steve considered for a moment before nodding. He didn’t know enough about the Principality of Monaco to argue. “Sure. Okay.” He waved at his backpack on the sofa. “Not like I’ve got a lot of stuff to worry about.”

“Please, I packed two suitcases of clothes for you. It’s a thirteen day cruise and I wasn’t about to show up with only a carry-on. So obvious. You’re just lucky all of the luggage was delivered and I didn’t have to drag it up here myself.” She waved toward a full-size silver rolling suitcase standing near the wooden sliding doors of the closet. “I hung up the collared shirts and suits so you won’t be wrinkly, but the rest…just be happy it fits.”

He was happy he wouldn’t be stuck wearing the three sets of casual clothes he’d stuffed into his backpack, intended to last indefinitely, but he knew better than to question the burst of generosity that had apparently provided him with a wardrobe for the mission. “I guess I just have one question.”

“Well?” she asked after a significant interval of silence during which he had willed himself not to think about anyone else seeing her naked.  

“Why me?” He didn’t include the implied caveats – Why not Clint? Why not Fury? Why not _anyone_? Bruce Banner?

She didn’t hesitate before saying, “It could be dangerous. I want my partner backing me up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Her green eyes were wide under brows dyed blonde.

He didn’t have to pause before confirming, “Okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex chapter? Sex chapter.

Steve checked his appearance in the foggy bathroom mirror, combing his fingers through his beard to neaten it after his shower. It felt nice to be clean after his long journey to Corsica, but Natasha hadn’t been kidding about the size of the shower. It was almost too narrow for him to bring his hands up to wash his hair and he had to awkwardly lift his legs to get to his feet because he couldn’t bend over.

It also reminded him of the stasis tube Bucky was currently occupying in Wakanda.

With a heavy sigh at the memory of his friend, Steve collected his clothes off the floor and stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel around his waist. He’d lost almost all sense of shyness around Natasha even before they’d slept together, having spent so many long missions working with her, sometimes in very intimate quarters. His backpack was sitting on the short sofa, but he didn’t know if he should throw on a pair of jeans with cocktails in the impressively named Champagne Bar looming in just over an hour.

“Nat?”

“Out here,” she called through the open balcony door.

He quickly glanced around as he skirted the bed and realized the silver devices were no longer visible. Curious, he poked his head out the door. The balcony turned out to be a fairly private rectangle of wood with two chairs and a small table, divided by solid white partitions from what he assumed were similar spaces for the neighboring rooms. Natasha was still in her sundress, feet bare and propped against the railing. He tried not to fix his gaze on the way her skirt was riding up. “All set, if you want one. A shower, I mean.”

“Maybe after dinner.” She set the book she’d been reading on the table beside a bottle of water. He idly noticed the Russian writing on the cover. “Come out and sit. There’s a nice breeze.”

“Um…” He pulled the curtain aside slightly to show her his current state of undress.

She rolled her eyes. “Relax. No one is gonna be scandalized by a man in a towel.”

After hesitating another moment, he stepped outside. The wood was warm beneath his feet and he found that if he sat carefully, he was fully covered. “So…” He waved his hand toward the room and hoped she understood his meaning.

“Yeah, I took them down because they’re going to be in here while we’re out.”

“Who?” he asked, somewhat alarmed.

“Housekeeping. It’s like every time someone leaves their room, they show up to tidy up and put chocolates on the pillows. I managed to keep them out the first two days with the excuse that my boyfriend was jetlagged and needed to catch up on his beauty sleep, but you can only hold them off for so long before they use a vacuum as a battering ram and force their way in to make the bed and create towel art.”

“Towel art?”

“You’ll see one after dinner. Don’t leave your sunglasses lying around unless you want an unspeakably cute elephant or something wearing them when we come back.”

He chuckled. It was so easy to fall back into his normal relationship with Natasha as if nothing had changed. He supposed in the most important sense that nothing had. He’d trusted her enough to come find her on the flimsiest pretext and she hadn’t let him down. Now it was just a matter of saving the world again, no matter what the world thought of them. An interesting thought pinged in his brain. “What did Yakushev want you to do that you’re so worried about him now?”

She continued gazing out over the boats in the harbor, but a small muscle twitched in her temple. “What does it matter? I didn’t do it. And we really should talk about this later, okay?”

“Right. I just want to understand what we’re going to be dealing with.”

“You have no idea.” Natasha focused on a spot in the middle distance. He watched her watching a sailboat gliding through the water, the curve of her neck changing incrementally as she followed its progress. The play of sunlight on her skin seemed to make it glow. Even her blonde hair was perfect in this moment. “We seem to be underway.”

He nodded, feeling the gentle thrum of the engines through the deck. The ship was slowly moving away from the pier and he could no longer stand the space between them. “Nat…”

“You won’t be able to hide that under your towel for long.”

“I know.” The terrycloth was practically torture on his growing arousal, rubbing uncomfortably against his swelling head. “We probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” She stood and tugged his hand as she passed back through the door. “We don’t have to cover for this sort of noise.”

The sea air caused the curtains to billow inward as the last vestige of propriety receded. Steve almost manhandled Natasha the few steps to the bed, shoving the straps of her sundress off her shoulders as his towel fell to the floor. She tipped her head back to expose her neck and he obliged her with his lips, hands pushing her dress from her body to pool around her feet. She was naked before his hungry gaze. The thought that she’d been planning this and removed her underwear while he’d been in the shower in preparation flashed through his mind, but he was too focused on her to give it much consideration. He mouthed down her neck and over her collarbones, allowing his lips and tongue to map the curves of her body as they tumbled into bed.  

She moaned deeply as he moved over her right breast to her nipple, his hand mimicking the motion on her left breast. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t been missing the flavor of the food at Avengers HQ or the scent of the cleaning agent used in the hallways – he had been missing Natasha, the salt of her skin and the scent of her hair and…he pushed two fingers into her wet, welcoming warmth. Yes. _This_ was what he had really been missing since going on the run. He had been waiting for the day he could hold her, touch her, taste her…

“Steve…God…” She squirmed beneath him as he worked his fingers, pressing his palm against her as he increased the pace and pressure. He propped himself on his elbow to get his weight off her, watching her closely as she drew her brows in and squeezed her eyes closed, lips pursed as he pulled a shivering moan from her with just his hand. His erection throbbed in response, but he remained focused on her.

He leaned down and kissed her neck, her pulse beating hard against his lips as she began to tense up around his fingers, her thighs clenching his hand between her legs. A light sheen of perspiration was visible on her skin now and he dragged his nose along the track left by a bead of sweat from her hairline to her jaw. “You really are a hot blonde,” he joked before becoming more serious, “Nat…I know you’re close. You’re so beautiful when you come.”

He continued to whisper encouragement until she gave a half-strangled squeal as her hips bucked up against his hand, her orgasm alternately tensing and relaxing her body. He kept up his actions until she pushed his hand away. Her smile had a dreamy quality when he looked up to make sure she was okay. “Steve… That was amazing. Just…give me a minute.”

Her breathing slowed over the next few minutes and he continued to watch her, waiting for a signal that he could kiss her again, put his hands on her body. It was more intense than he remembered, maybe because it had been a while or because the separation had been so profound or because he was absolutely crazed with love…

“Hey.” He looked up at the breathy sound of her voice. “We need to make a small change before we continue, because this bedspread is gonna give my ass rug burn.”

Her tone reminded him that this was about the physical pleasure and not an emotional connection beyond their friendship, which was what they had agreed to originally. He grinned at her. “We can’t have that. No way I’m letting you be on top all the time.”

“Please, you love it when I ride you.”

He bit his tongue to stop himself from saying too much about what he loved, instead getting to his feet and pulling her toward him. She climbed into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. He had to support her with a hand under her ass, more to keep her high enough so she wasn’t grinding against his arousal and testing his self-control, while he pulled back the covers with his other hand. He dropped her back on the bed when he’d gotten down to the sheets. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, slowly drawing her knees up as she spread her legs.

It took his breath away. “Natasha…”

“Don’t make me wait, soldier.”

He was on top of her in an instant, pushing into her mouth with his tongue as he tried to mimic the action against her hips. After a few misaligned thrusts, she grabbed him and swept his head through her hot, wet folds. He shuddered and pulled back from her lips, wanting to see her face when he entered her. She gave him a small nod and he shifted forward, gasping as he was enveloped. “God, Nat…”

“Mmm…you don’t have to go so slow.”

“Don’t wanna…” He had to pause and take a gulp of air as he bottomed out. “Didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know it’s been a while, but…oh, Steve!” she cried out as he pulled back and gave a strong, quick thrust forward. “Better.”

They fell into a steady rhythm, so familiar even after the time spent apart. He found himself burying his face in her neck, nuzzling into her hair. She raked her blunt nails down his back, loudly calling out his name. He wanted it to last forever, this amazing coupling of their bodies, but he was already so close…so close… He pumped his hips harder, unable to overcome his impatience as he tightened up. He was with her now and he would be with her for the next few days and then… “Come back with me,” he gasped, teetering on the edge of his release.

“Almost,” she replied breathlessly. “Steve…oh, God, Steve!”

The fact that she’d misunderstood his request ceased to matter as his brain blanked out for a moment, pleasure coursing up and down his spine like an electric current. He was vaguely aware of her shouting his name again before her internal muscles squeezed the last drops from him. He let himself collapse on top of her, knowing she could handle his weight for a few minutes. There was no way he was moving just yet.

 

* * *

Steve smiled with what he hoped wasn’t an inappropriate degree of satisfaction as he stepped off the elevator on Deck 5 – Natasha had informed him that lazy tourists never took the stairs even though it was only two flights – and looked around. So far, everything he’d seen on the ship reminded him of a furniture store, like it had all been meticulously set up with the intention of selling itself. The marble and crystal and uniformed staff was even more incongruous considering the swarms of tanned and sunburned tourists in shorts, tank tops, t shirts and flip flops. He felt almost overdressed in the clean dark jeans and light blue button up Natasha had given him to wear.

She was walking at his side, holding onto his arm. She’s taken a quick shower after their afternoon exertions and dressed in spiky heels, tight black pants and a drapey dark red shirt that hung off her right shoulder. Steve had already aimed more than one glare at a passing ogler, not that he could blame anyone for taking a good look at her. No matter what her hair color, Natasha was ridiculously hot. Not that he was biased. He smiled wider as she leaned into him. “Over by the windows.”

Dorrie noticed them as soon as they approached and waved to them excitedly. She was sitting with her daughter, son-in-law and an older man that Steve guessed was her husband. As they went through introductions, he quickly reminded himself that his cover was that he was a high school history teacher from Queens and Natasha was also a teacher. They’d met through work and she taught languages.

He was distracted from his internal recitation by Tom, who shook his hand with a strong, calloused grip. “All right, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you.”

“Always good to know there’s still gentlemen in the world, ‘specially when they’ve the sense to look after my Dorrie.” Tom gestured to an open chair and Steve waited until Natasha had taken her seat before sitting himself. “Ah, there it is! Manners! Don’t see young men with manners these days!” His glance cut toward his son-in-law, who was unabashedly staring at Natasha’s chest. “Desmond! Signal the barman, yeah?”

“Wha?” Desmond didn’t look away from Natasha until Ann smacked his knee, hard. “Sorry, what?”

“Never mind,” Tom muttered, beckoning to a smiling man in a vest and bowtie, who immediately came over brandishing a tray. “That’s a good lad. What’ll you have, Steve?”

He glanced around at the group. Everyone but Tom was drinking something orange from champagne flutes. Dorrie wiggled hers at him. “Have a Bellini, Steve. They’ve ever so tasty.”

“Eh, man like him don’t want that girly rubbish. What’d’ye like? Whiskey? Scotch?”

“Er…well.” He needed to stall for a little time. Not being able to get drunk, he hadn’t really considered what he should order, given the call to do so. He needed a moment to think about his choice. What had the Commandos said that night they were all arguing about the best options? “Nat, what would you like?”

Tom slapped his shoulder and laughed. “Won’t be stopped, this gent! Too right, you are. Sorry, love, but what’ll’ye have?”

“A Bellini is fine for me, thanks,” Natasha replied, lacing her fingers through Steve’s. “And we’re paying our own way, so don’t be shy about ordering your Glenlivet.”

He shot her a grateful look and nodded toward the waiter. “Right, Glenlivet.” As an afterthought he added, “Neat.”

“I pegged you for a Scotch drinker!” Tom roared with excitement, clapping him on the shoulder again. “But don’t listen to the lady. Put it on mine.” He handed the waiter one of the room keycards. When Natasha raised a weak protest, he waved her off, “I’ll not hear it. We invited you for drinks. So, Steve, Dorrie tells me you’re a historian, then?”

“History teacher, actually. High school.”

“Ah, educating the next generation! I hope your students in America are a shade brighter than our Steven and Philip. Be lucky if those two are admitted to University.”

“Dad, the boys are doing quite well in school,” Ann interrupted. “Got top marks on spring term exams, didn’t they, Des?”

“Huh? Yeah, great.” Desmond leaned over in his chair, putting himself closer to Natasha, who pointedly pulled Steve’s hand closer to her body.

Dorrie patted Natasha’s other arm and asked, “Now you’re a teacher, too, right dear?”

The rest of the time spent in the bar followed the pattern established in the first two minutes. Steve got the distinct feeling that Tom was trying to make Desmond feel reduced by persistently complimenting him, Steve, while Desmond was too distracted trying to talk to Natasha to notice and Ann fumed quietly clutching her glass with white knuckles. Only Dorrie seemed to be totally genuine out of the group, chatting happily to both Steve and Natasha as they sipped their drinks. After a second round, which he managed to charge himself when a fingernail digging into his palm indicated he should, they had exhausted the small talk of home, employment and what they thought of the ship. Ann made a vague comment about tracking down the kids at the pool and getting them to eat, dragging Desmond away.

Steve took that as his cue and stood, offering his hand to Natasha. “Well, this has been nice.”

“Oh, never you mind about our Annie. She’s always fussing about those children.” Dorrie pushed herself up and waved her cane toward the stern. “Are you heading to the dining room for dinner?”

“No, we’re going to the buffet.” Natasha replied, patting Steve’s stomach. “This one has the appetite of a champion hog. I wish I had his metabolism.”

“But you’ve got a perfectly lovely figure! Tom, hasn’t Natasha got a lovely figure?”

“Oh, I’ve been married long enough to know better than to answer that one.” Tom nevertheless raised Natasha’s hand to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles before shaking Steve’s hand firmly again. “Well, I’m sure we’ll see you again on such a _small_ vessel, eh?”

Dorrie was more effusive, kissing them each on the cheek and giving them her room number to call if they ever wanted company at a meal. Steve felt exhausted by the time they parted to head to the buffet. He barely managed to ask, “Did you call me a champion…hog?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t even deny it. They’re going to have to call security to escort you away from the prime rib in half an hour and you know it.”

It didn’t go quite that far, but he was feeling almost uncomfortably full when they made their way back to their room. The heavy feeling in his stomach was replaced by tension slightly lower when she grabbed a sheaf of papers from behind the numbered door plaque and pushed into their room. “What’s all that?”

She flipped through quickly, saying, “Tomorrow’s schedule, invitation to some kind of cooking class, advertisement for the stores, oh…what’s this?”

She handed him a folded page. It was a handwritten note on paper with the cruise line’s logo at the top. It began, _Dear Steve_ … He had a moment of panic. “How could this person know my name is Steve? Did we give Dorrie our room number?”

She plucked the paper from his hand and read. After a moment, she burst out laughing. “This appears to be my fault.”

He grabbed the paper back and read, _Dear Steve, I assume that’s your name because your wife or girlfriend was shouting it pretty loud. Congrats on a job well done, I guess. Just wanted to let you know that when you leave your balcony door open, it’s pretty easy to hear what you’re up to so I hope you remember to close them tonight because my wife gets real cranky if she doesn’t get enough sleep._ He dropped the paper without reading the rest, already feeling his blush burning down his chest and further.

Natasha was grinning at him, holding up one of the silver devices from earlier. “Cone of silence tonight?”

“Definitely.”


	4. Chapter 4

Steve felt hot. This had everything to do with the sun high overhead and nothing to do with his swimsuit, which was much more revealing than the long, colorful shorts the few other men and boys near the pool below were wearing. Natasha had assured him before leaving their room that the clingy blue thing was very European even over his protests that his boxers were more modest. He pulled the legs further down his thighs again, only to watch them return to their original length within seconds. He sighed and looked around to make sure they were still the only sunbathers on this particular section of the highest accessible deck. At least he was allowed to put on a pair of loose jogging pants when not sitting in his chaise beside her and the only other person who had seen him in his tiny stretchy shorts was the grinning guy in the polo shirt and shorts who brought them fresh bottled water.

Steve turned his head to look at Natasha and felt even more awkward about his current level of exposure. She was currently lying on her front, head resting on her arms as she turned a very appealing shade of golden-tan. He’d been promised a full mission rundown after lunch if he spent the morning topside with her. The deal had actually been to let her spend the morning tanning, but he’d decided he couldn’t let her out of his sight in the black bikini with the red ties she’d put on following their room service breakfast. He almost had to reset the cone of silence when she’d spun around to give him the full effect.

She suddenly reached down to scratch a spot on her thigh, causing her ass to jiggle ever so slightly. He decided that now would be an excellent time to flip onto his stomach and managed to do so without crushing himself against the rubber slats of the chaise. Much as he was looking forward to the mission briefing, he was more eager just to get back to bed. He made a show of looking at his watch. “Almost noon.”

She didn’t bother to look at her phone, which was sitting in her small tote bag on the deck beneath her chair. “It’s not even 11:30 yet.”

“Oh.” He wondered if what she’d said about lazy tourists also applied to getting up in the morning. “Is that why the pool isn’t more crowded? Because it’s early?”

“We didn’t dock until ten and most people who are going ashore get off the ship at the first possible opportunity, not to mention the people booked on shore excursions.” She turned toward him, resting her cheek on her forearm. “I’m sure it will be active here later.”

“But we’ve got our own plans for later.”

“Such a one track mind.” She reached over to stroke his chin. She really did seem to like his beard, as she kept running her fingers through it. “It’s better to come up early, though. I want the sun, not the audience.”

“You mighta picked the wrong thing to wear, in that case.”

“At least you like my suit.” She winked and he had to try to lift his hips slightly without being too obvious about it. “Do you think your tan will last?”

He was slightly thrown by the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“I was just thinking… Your cuts and bruises always fade so fast. You’ve definitely got a nice bronze going now, but will it be gone later today?”

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He tugged at one leg of his suit, which he could feel riding up the back of his thigh. “Not that I’ll be able to compare shades, because this thing you gave me to wear isn’t going to leave much in the way of tan lines.”

“Just be grateful I went with the _Casino Royale_ Bond-style suit and didn’t succumb to the temptation of putting you in a banana hammock.”

“I’m not even gonna ask.”

She smirked and picked up her phone. After a moment, she turned it so he could see a picture of…

He recoiled in horror, nearly falling off his chaise. “I said I wasn’t asking! Wait, is that even a real thing, or is that one of those joke websites?”  She took that as a prompt to show him more of the little waist strings with a bag in the front for…personal containment. If he had to look for a positive in discovering that swimsuits more revealing than his existed, at least it had the advantage of resolving the situation she had provoked _in_ his suit. “Let’s forget we had this conversation. I promise to stop complaining about my little shorts.”

“It’s just as well. You might not have even fit in one of those little pouches.” He was worried the compliment was going to reverse the blood flow the pictures had begun until she added, “And you definitely would not have agreed to the wax you’d need to pull one off.”

“Thanks for that, Nat.”

She set her phone back down and he decided to stop pestering her until she was good and ready to get out of the sun. Her decision came just after one o’clock when the deck below started to fill in and people started moving to the chairs in their vicinity. He eagerly pulled on his pants and t shirt, though it was a little disappointing to see Natasha’s bikini disappear under her cover up. He reasoned that if they were going to have the cone of silence up this afternoon _anyway_ …

She tucked herself against his chest as they waited for the elevator with a family of large Americans who had apparently spent the last hour in the buffet engaged in a crab leg eating contest. Steve wasn’t sure if it was a ship-sponsored activity, but forgot to ask Natasha if she’d seen it on the daily schedule when they arrived back in their room and she hurriedly stripped off her cover up and suit. He was left disappointed when she told him she was going to jump in the shower to rinse off the suntan lotion before they went to lunch.

He went outside to sit on the balcony for a few minutes after changing from his swimsuit to boxers under his pants. He definitely had a strip of skin between his hips and upper thighs that was paler and he was interested to see how long it lasted. He was inspecting the line under the waistband of his pants when he heard a high-pitched, wheezy laugh to his left. There was a balding man peeking around the edge of the partition between balconies. “Makin’ sure you’re ready to go again this afternoon?” He reached a hairy paw-like hand toward Steve. “Steve, right? I’m Kevin. Thanks for keepin’ it down last night.”

“Oh, right.” Steve shook the sweaty mitt, giving it a little more force than necessary because he could feel a blush spreading over his face. “We got your note. Sorry we disturbed you yesterday.”

“Hey, no prob. You on your honeymoon or somethin’?”

“Uh, no. Just a vacation.” Steve tugged his hand out of the other man’s and wiped it on his pants. “Anyway, we’ll keep it quiet from now on.”

“Don’t worry about it, pal. Wish my wife sound that happy when I’m givin’ it to her. She hot?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your girlfriend, man. She’s hot, right? Gotta be. She in there?”

Steve stood and subtly flexed his arms in a stretch over his head before turning back into the room. “Goodbye, Kevin.”

“Sorry!” Kevin squeaked, disappearing quickly back to his own space as Steve slid the door closed. It wasn’t as satisfying as a slam, but it still made a nice heavy sound. He pulled the curtains shut for good measure and flopped onto the freshly-made bed. Without getting up, he kicked at the bedspread until it fell off the end of the bed. It really was unpleasant against the skin.

He turned his head toward Natasha as she walked out of the bathroom in one of the provided white terrycloth robes a few minutes later. “The people here are weird.”

“The crab leg people?”

“Yeah, them, and our neighbor who wrote the note. I just met him.”

“That explains why you’ve got tomato ears.” She lay beside him and snuggled against his side. “Was he upset he hadn’t heard anything else?”

“Now that you mention it, I think he might have been. How’d you know?”

“Creepy people are all alike.”

“I thought that was happy families.”

“Them too. And thanks for finally reading at least something I recommended.”

“Hey, I read a lot of the things you’ve told me about. I just focused on the history instead of the Russian novels. And _The Guns of August_ is still my favorite.”

“Tolstoy’s not for everyone.” Her hair against his arm was only slightly damp, as if had gotten incidentally wet in the shower but she hadn’t washed it. She still carried the slight scent of the coconut lotion she’d let him rub on her back earlier. Her fingers were scratching through his beard along his jaw. “I’m surprised you didn’t zero in on the World War II stuff.”

“Some of that stuff sounds like reading the newspapers from the ‘40s to me. The rest…it’s still too close, I guess.”

She hummed into his neck by way of response, working her lips against his throat.

He let it go on until he felt yet another stir in his lower belly. He decided to address the one occurring a little higher. “Weren’t we going to get something for lunch?”

“I’ll get dressed.”

Steve’s disappointment that she took off her robe only to put clothing on was replaced by pleasant surprise when they sat down at a small table in a café-style restaurant not long afterward, even if it was located in the gigantic indoor mall on the ship. He was comforted that he wasn’t the only one to note the incongruity; Natasha had remarked on how many tactical aircraft could fit in the space if it were a hangar when they’d walked through it the previous day. He ordered a cheeseburger and reached across the table to grasp her hand in his.

She looked down at their threaded fingers and raised an eyebrow. “Committed, hm?”

“I did show up the moment you wanted me.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, “And I’m not the one calling herself Rogers.”

“Shhh,” she hissed, but she didn’t pull her hand from his and actually blushed slightly on her newly tanned cheeks. “I…whatever, Steve. I won’t even get started on _your_ alias. I could say you really like my peaches. Bet you wanna shake my tree.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to what he assumed was an innuendo, so he stroked his thumb across her knuckles before leaning over to kiss her hand. When he glanced around the small, open restaurant, he realized it was almost entirely occupied with couples eating together. It felt nice, being in public with Natasha like this. It was Right. He was on the verge of asking her what was going to happen between them after the mission when their waitress delivered his burger and her turkey wrap. The wine Natasha had ordered also tasted pretty good, even if he couldn’t enjoy its other benefits.

They made their way back to their room once the bottle was gone. Steve thought he was about to need the cone of silence that Natasha was setting up until her phone buzzed. Her expression shifted from happy to concerned as she swept her thumb over the screen. “Shit.”

“Nat…”

“This is just fucking…I should’ve fucking known!”

“What’s going on?”

She hit one of the cone of silence sensors with more force than seemed necessary to activate the field and dropped onto the bed with her computer. He gingerly sat next to her, allowing her to type at lightning speed for a short while.

“Nat, is everything okay?”

She tapped at the invisible field until it shimmered before she replied, “He’s not going to be in Saint-Tropez tomorrow. He’s in goddamn Amsterdam today and he may not even show up in Monaco for the sale…” She angrily hit a few more keys before slamming the computer shut. “Interpol idiots.”

“Yakushev?” Steve asked for clarification.

“I’ve got alerts sent to my phone whenever the intelligence community pings the asshole and they lost him,” she confirmed with a nod, “until yesterday, when he landed at Schipol on the private strip and now…I need better fucking contacts.”

“I don’t know if I’m missing something, but why are you so sure this is the guy who’s after the plutonium?”

“Trust me.” She didn’t make any move to reciprocate when he pulled the hem of her shirt up with his teeth. He tried to nip along her hipbone, but she pushed his head away. “Stop.”

“Come on, Nat. Why are you so concerned about this guy?”

“He’s…look, I met him when I was younger and he was a vicious asshole then. Based on what I’ve learned, he’s only gotten worse.”

Every time Steve had asked her about her past, he had come up against a wall. It wasn’t enough to stop him from trying one more time.  “How’d you meet him?”

She frowned and didn’t answer. He waited quietly until she asked, “You remember I told you that his father was KGB?”

“Right.” Steve was suddenly happy they had landed in bed before undressing. “Was his name…um, Yuri?”

“Yeah. Yuri was one of our instructors in the Red Room. He was good. Some of the things they taught us that weren’t strictly weapons and combat were vague, theoretical, but Yuri was practical. He’d seen a lot and he knew the tricks that would keep us alive. He treated us like…I know it probably doesn’t make sense, given the context, but he treated us like a teacher who was invested in his students’ success.”

Steve didn’t think he should interrupt just yet, although he had made the mistake of holding her a little too close. “It was different for you.” He swallowed hard before adding, “You’re an Avenger.”

“Yeah, well…that isn’t relevant right now. I’m trying to tell you that Yuri brought Nikolai along to the compound sometimes. He wasn’t the nicest guy.”

“Nat…”

Natasha went on, “One day, my class was working on something with Yuri when one of the younger girls dragged Nikolai into the room. He’d attacked her, tried to…you can probably imagine. He had to be nineteen and she couldn’t have been older than eleven, but with the training they gave us, he didn’t have a chance. Yuri…he had us teach Nikolai a lesson with some of the interrogation techniques he’d been teaching us. I was told to dissect out and remove a portion of his facial nerve.”

“And you did it?”

 “All you really need is a scalpel and an anatomy textbook,” she replied with a shrug. “I showed you a picture of Nikolai with Yuri, right?”

“Yeah. He was helping his dad out of a car.”

“That’s the last known picture of Yuri. Supposedly Nikolai wanted to mend fences with his father but that was just an excuse to steal his organs and sell them on the black market. That’s not a joke.”

“I didn’t think it was,” Steve replied.

“That’s why I wanted you here.”

He wrapped his arms around her without any hesitation. He knew there was nothing she could confess that would change his feelings for her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss Piggy: Why are you telling me this?
> 
> Lady Holiday: It's plot exposition! It has to go somewhere!

Steve molded his body against Natasha’s back, pulling her into his chest. He wrapped his arm around her body just under her breasts and gave her a gentle hug. She didn’t even look away from her laptop to say, “Not now.”

“I just want to hold you.” He glanced toward the balcony, where the sun was just visible over the horizon. “You need to relax a little, Nat.”

“How can I relax when…”

“Yakushev is out there, ready to buy weapons-grade nuclear material,” he interrupted. It had been a tense afternoon since she’d told him about her connection to both Yakushev and his father, including a detailed history of what Nikolai had been up to since ‘auctioning Yuri off for parts,’ as she had put it at one point. Steve wasn’t entirely convinced she was interpreting the available intel correctly, given her attitude toward her prime suspect. “Y’know, for all the stuff you’ve told me about this guy over the past few hours, you haven’t really explained why you think it’s him that’s going to try to buy the plutonium.”

“Because the guy who had it first had some fingers cut off and Yakushev likes to chop people up. He likes to send a message and make sure everyone knows what a badass he is, in spite of the fact that he fucks little girls who can’t defend themselves and the time he met one that could his dad made some other teenage girls slice him up.” Her incessant typing abruptly stopped. “Shit. I never made that connection before. Great. Because I didn’t already have enough red in my fucking ledger!”

Steve grabbed the computer as she cocked her arm back to throw it across the room. “You’re gonna need this.”

“Are you not listening? Remember I told you he tried to hire me once? He got one of the other girls from the Red Room – not from my class that hurt him because the rest of them were already dead at that point. She was a year or two younger. After she killed the target, Yakushev met with her to deliver her payment and flayed her. He peeled off so much of her skin that she died of blood loss.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still…” her angry reply was cut off as she stepped out of the cone of silence and walked toward the bathroom.

He hoped she was splashing some cold water on her face or something. He wasn’t used to seeing her this openly angry about anything. He decided to give her a few minutes before he checked on her. He propped the laptop against his thighs and scrolled through some of the reports she had gleaned from various sources, including Interpol, MI-6 and the CIA. Natasha had compiled quite the extensive dossier on the missing plutonium by combining the work of the official agencies. Steve put the narrative together in his head as he skimmed the documents.

The 10kg parcel of plutonium had been amassed by two rogue scientists over a period of nearly seventeen years working at a secret facility in Islamabad. When they determined they had enough material to sell and retire on, they contacted a known international arms dealer and made an arrangement. The scientists had already been apprehended and interrogated by the Pakistani ISI. The arms dealer, an Austrian ex-pat named Lukas Fuchs, had smuggled the material across Asia and into Europe, where he had traded it for a huge cache of small arms and explosives, which were more commercially viable among his own contacts. Fuchs was the man currently missing his index fingers, having made the wrong deal; he had also lost the warehouse of weapons and munitions he acquired in the deal when Interpol arrested him and seized all his assets.

The current whereabouts of the plutonium were unconfirmed, though a South African, Adem van Rooyen, seemed to be the consensus pick for possessing it. Van Rooyen had a penthouse apartment in a Monaco high-rise and a reputation for unscrupulous business practices, though it was unclear what his actual legal business entailed, assuming it existed at all. He had booked a private gaming room in the Casino de Monte-Carlo on the day the cruise ship would be docked in Monaco. This was apparently the date of the plutonium sale.

There was also a list of potential buyers included with the intel – people with plenty of money and questionable motives. Plutonium apparently wasn’t enough to trigger a nuclear explosion; it required the correct trigger, containment and delivery systems, none of which were cheaply or easily acquired. The list read like a who’s who of the world’s rich amoral assholes: one had direct connections to Middle Eastern terrorists, another had his own mercenary army, while another seemed to be acting at the behest of an African dictator. Steve could see how Yakushev, as Natasha had described him, could fit in with such a group.

Steve scanned back through the information as she returned to her spot beside him on the bed. “Hey, sorry.”

“Hm?”

“I’m not mad at you and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Her hand was suddenly on his thigh, pushing the computer of out his lap. “Can I make it up to you with a blow job?”

“Later,” he said to his own surprise, maintaining his grip on the laptop. It was going to need a little time to get in the mood after everything he’d learned this afternoon. “I’ve been looking through your intel and I don’t understand why you think Yakushev is involved, other than the finger thing and the fact that he’s…bad. Agencies are keeping an eye on him, but no one has made the connection to the plutonium. Honestly, from everything I’m reading it looks like some kind of auction is being set up. Why are we focused on him?”

“Worst case scenario.”

“Nat…”

“Look, I know I’ve been acting like Yakushev is the endgame, but the fact is we’re going all-in after the plutonium and all the intel says it should be in Monaco. I just thought that Yakushev was the most likely buyer and it threw me to learn he might not be there, but Amsterdam isn’t that far away and it’s not like he can’t get there. I just think we should be prepared. Especially because Yakushev wants me dead.”

“And you trust me to handle your demons better than Clint?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just…” He realized that he didn’t know why he’d mentioned Barton. When he had first started working with Natasha, he had assumed she was romantically involved Barton because half of SHIELD was operating under the same pretense. Knowing the whole Barton family and their relationship with Auntie Nat, it was much easier to contextualize the relationship between the two spies as one of mutual understanding with a ready-made shell to deflect outsiders. Clint’s wasn’t the name he really wanted to ask about, the man whose presence in Natasha’s life that Steve truly feared. He tried to pull it back around to Clint. “He might be better at this kind of thing than me, I meant.”

Steve was surprised to feel her hand cupping his jaw, her fingers again scratching through his beard. “I wanted _you_ here, Steve. Maybe Clint would be a better choice for the technical details, but you’re the person I want backing me up. I absolutely trust him with my life, but…”

“But you know he has other people he’s responsible for,” he finished. “The thing is…so do I. I know Sam can handle anything that comes up, but he’s still in that position because I left. Sam and Wanda and Scott are where they are right now because they took my side. And Clint, too, even though I know he could probably get us all to another safe house in hours if we really needed to, but…”

“I know how to get in touch with Bruce,” she suddenly interrupted. “That’s what you’re really asking, isn’t it?”

“Wh-what?” Sometimes it was tough being secretly in love with a master spy. “I never…I…”

“You’re not a placeholder, Steve. I know how to reach Bruce and I always have. Do you really think Nick would let the Hulk run around loose for long? I contacted you because I wanted _you_ here.”

“I don’t…” He had a fleeting thought that she could have called Fury for this mission – hell, she could have called Maria Hill and believably faked the couple on a vacation routine before sweeping in for a dramatic no-holds-barred fight that was surprisingly erotic in Steve’s overactive imagination. He had to take a moment to banish that scenario from his mind. “You really wanted me?”

“Why is that so difficult to believe?”

“I just…we never…it was always…Nat…”

“I want you, Steve.” He allowed her to push the laptop away as she straddled his thighs. Her lips were so soft against his as she whispered, “You were never my second choice.”

“Oh, Nat…” It was hard to care about the world ending when Natasha was kissing him and grinding her hips against him.

She gasped as he pushed against her. “You know…I never…with Bruce…”

The mention of Bruce again was enough to give Steve a moment’s pause. He firmly grasped Natasha’s hips to stop her from moving. “I think we need to talk.”

“Yeah.” She sat back against his thighs, though she didn’t climb off his lap. “This friends with benefits thing isn’t working, is it?”

“I guess not.” He had been dreading this conversation since he’d first agreed to the arrangement with her back when they were leading the new Avengers team. At first he’d just been lying to himself that it was just sex and then he’d spent a long time lying to her and now she was finally calling him on it and they were going to spend the next few days awkwardly sharing a bed before saying goodbye again for an indefinite period. “So…what happens next?”

“Not sure. I’ve never really thought of myself as girlfriend material.”

Steve’s brain stopped functioning for a moment. There were synapses randomly firing, bouncing around his head like little electric shocks, but he couldn’t understand the messages they were sending. “You…what?”

 “Look, I know you’ve probably always imagined yourself with a certain type of woman and I totally understand that I’m not exactly… I just think it could work if we…I missed you so much and I hated that I didn’t listen when you tried to tell me the Accords were a mistake and…” Her hands were on his cheeks now, encouraging him to look up at her. His breath felt like it was stuck in his chest when he finally met her gaze. “Steve? Please say something.”

When his brain finally caught up to what was happening, he blurted out, “I love you.”

“Steve,” she breathed against his lips before they were kissing again. He couldn’t picture kissing anyone else like this ever again, not with Natasha’s scent in his nose and her flavor on his tongue and her skin under his hands as he reached under her shirt. He was the luckiest man in the world. He had to be.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things and stuff and wine-related nonsense. Hope you like it!

Steve hadn’t ever experienced the high of the numerous mind-altering substances that were so popular in the ‘60s, as his research had indicated, but he had definitely been drunk before the serum had robbed him of that potential feeling. He had experienced drunkenness on multiple occasions prior to the serum’s unexpected effects. The rotgut and moonshine (there actually was an important difference between the two designations when drinking from unlabeled bottles) that he and Bucky had consumed in their early teens at the tail-end of prohibition and beyond had left Steve with distinct but also blurry, out-of- body memories that may not have been real. The warm feeling of contentment checked out, as did the sense of invincibility and the lack of inhibitions. The sensation of walking on air because he and Natasha were now in an acknowledged relationship was new, though, along with the conviction that every man and several of the women who looked at them on the way from their cabin to the dining room were totally jealous of him.

Of course, there was no comparing his boozy youthful indiscretions with the feeling of walking around with the woman he loved on his arm, even if it was just on a cruise ship where they’d been masquerading as a couple for the  past two days. And it was true that she had yet to return his ‘I love you,’ but he had the feeling that he shouldn’t push for too much too quickly. She had told him that she wanted a romantic relationship with him and that was plenty for now. It was certainly more than he’d imagined was possible when he’d gotten on the train in Dijon two days ago.

He couldn’t get over the fact that she’d agreed to date him, in spite of their long standing secret relationship. Every time that he glanced at her as they made their way to the ship’s formal dining room, he was struck by how beautiful she was. Even with her dyed blonde hair, she was a knockout in her little black dress and strappy heels. He had an odd moment of understanding with every criminal who had stepped out with the city’s most beautiful dame and experienced a feeling of invulnerability – who could touch you with a woman this magnificent on your arm? He was almost disappointed when no on apprehended them when they stepped off the elevator.

He momentarily convinced himself that her outfit was fooling everyone. Her catsuit was still _his_ favorite, after all, but he suspected she already knew that. His heart nearly stopped when she turned and smiled at him in the elevator lobby. “Maybe we could just hang a sign on you so your cheeks don’t cramp up.”

“Huh?” He had barely managed to knot his tie after their amazing afternoon, though he noted he’d achieved a passable Windsor-knot as they passed through the mirrored lobby to the dining room. “I’m good.”

“Sure. And I’m sure the entire ship realizes you just got laid from the expression on your face. I don’t think I’ve never seen you smile this much.”

He made an effort to relax, but he knew he was still grinning as he replied to the maître ’d’s greeting at the podium, “Hi. Table for two, please. Room 7306.” Steve had suggested ordering room service, but Natasha had insisted they get out for a little bit. She claimed that the cone of silence needed to reset itself after prolonged use. He hoped the towel animal was more interesting today, because last night’s swan had been something of a disappointment.

They were walking along the middle balcony of the three-tiered dining room when Steve heard a voice he recognized calling, “Hullo! Look, it’s Steve and Natasha! Oh, we should invite them to join us for dinner!” He turned to wave to Dorrie, who had propped herself up against the table to crook her finger at them. “Come on, then! We’ve extra chairs!”

He turned to Natasha, who gave him a nod, though he wasn’t sure if it was accompanied by a frown or a chagrined smile. He gave his own strained smile to the maître d and they walked over to Dorrie’s family at a large circular table near a window. “Hello. Nice to see you all.”

Tom shook his hand before turning to greet Natasha, Ann gave a half-hearted sigh, two of the kids remained fixated on their devices and the other teenage boy followed Desmond’s example, staring openly at Natasha’s chest.

Dorrie was undeterred by her family’s lack of enthusiasm. “ _Do_ join us. We’d love the company, wouldn’t we, Tom?”

Tom flashed a wry grin as he looked at the family around the table, but said, “Of course you’re welcome to join in, but we’ll not be offended if you’d like a nice dinner alone together, as a couple.”

“Nonsense! The more the merrier!” Dorrie insisted. “Oh, don’t you look smart in your tie and jacket!”

Steve blushed as she fingered the lapel of the navy blue suit Natasha had pulled out of a garment bag in the closet for him. He was slightly torn regarding what to do, not wanting to disappoint the older woman while also feeling Natasha tugging his arm back toward the maître‘ d, who seemed to be getting impatient. Dorrie was gesturing to the chair she had pulled out for Natasha right beside the ever-leering Desmond. That settled it. “We should really be headed to our table, but maybe we can see you for drinks again at some point?”

Dorrie looked crestfallen, but one of the teenage boys, the starer, aimed a shit-eating grin at his mother. “So, these are the American grifters, then?”

“Philip!” Dorrie exclaimed while Ann glared at him furiously. “Wherever would you get such an awful idea about my friends?”

“From Mum.” Philip took a coy sip from his glass of soda before continuing, “Yeh, she said these Americans were getting in with you and Grampa so they could convince you to buy something daft from them or leave them your money in your will or something.”

“Oh, well, I never!” Dorrie exclaimed. She turned to him with a pleading look in her eyes. “Steve, you wouldn’t do such a thing, would you?”

“Ma’am. I can assure you that nothing of the sort ever crossed my mind,” he replied honestly. It sounded like some silly TV show plot, in his opinion. It was the kind of caper Lila Barton had her Avengers action figures enact, saving the world from petty nonsense because her parents tried to protect her from learning about the bigger threats. Iron Man and Vision had taken on the leading villain roles, Steve recalled from Lila’s explanation one day, because War Machine was hurt and didn’t deserve to be cast as a villain because he had enough problems going on, Black Panther had changed teams already once he learned the truth about ‘Hawkeye’s side’ and the spider kid didn’t have an action figure yet; when Steve had asked about Black Widow, Lila had rolled her eyes in a way that recalled Clint to an eerie degree and pointed to where the small catsuit-clad figure was posed to fight Ultron, armed with Captain America’s shield. At the time, Steve had just smiled, but now…

He suddenly remembered he was thinking about the wrong family. Ann had launched into a hushed tirade about befriending strange foreigners while Natasha shared an eye-roll with Tom, who apparently agreed about the ridiculousness of the accusation and offered them a sympathetic shrug, before pulling Steve away while Dorrie joined the argument with Ann. When they were finally seated far away, Natasha muttered, “Only you would randomly befriend the elderly and get caught up in their family vacation drama.”

“Dorrie and Tom are nice. I like them,” he replied, looking down at the table. “Um, why are there so many utensils?”

“To make you think this place is classier than it is. They’ll take a few away once you’ve ordered and then you just sort of choose the one that looks like it works best.” She shifted slightly in her seat and her foot was suddenly shoeless, caressing his calf under the table. “You haven’t forgotten how to pick the best weapon for the job, right?”

He tried to ignore her foot, now just above his knee, as he focused on the menu. “So I…I order something from each page?”

“Mmm-hm. You don’t have to order from every one, but they serve a five course meal. Six, I guess, because dessert is a separate menu. We can hit up the buffet later if you’re not full.”

“I…” He was saved from his lack of a witty comeback about how his voracious appetite fueled their amazing sex life – Damn! That _was_ a good one! – by their waiter’s arrival, followed shortly by the sommelier. He was mostly happy he knew the function of a ‘sommelier.’

The latter was just telling Natasha she had made excellent wine choices when a commotion broke out across the dining room. Ann was standing, pointing down at her mother and yelling something unintelligible, which prompted Tom to stand and clearly shout about respecting one’s parents. The young girl was crying and her older brothers were half-dragging, half-carrying her toward the exit, followed by a wild-eyed Desmond. As Ann realized she was now the center of attention, she abruptly cut off her rant and stalked after her husband and children, leaving Tom to sit and wrap his arm around Dorrie’s shoulders.

Steve tried to stand and realized the cuff of his shirt was pinned to the table with a knife that didn’t look like it was part of any place-setting. “Stay where you are.”

“Nat, this is my fault. I really should…”

“It is _not_ your fault,” she hissed back. “We’ll send a bottle of wine to their room or something, but the last thing you should do right now is draw more attention to them. Look at their body language. They clearly want to disappear and a tall, handsome man strolling over to be their knight in shining armor is just going to make things worse.” She reached out and tugged her switchblade out of the table, tucking it back wherever it had come from. “Look sympathetic in case she glances over here…good.” Natasha was wearing a pained look and raised her hand just off the tablecloth to acknowledge Dorrie as she and Tom left. “See? No need to prolong the agony.”

Steve watched the pair go with their heads held high before turning back. “What would I do without you?”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re stuck with me now.” They were quiet for a few moments as the sommelier delivered a bottle of white wine with a flourish and had them taste it to ensure it was all right. When the obsequious man had departed, Natasha said quietly, “We’ll write a note to Dorrie and Tom to tell them why we didn’t come over. And I saw a chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne gift set in the daily newsletter that you can send as an onboard gift with it, if you want.”

“That sounds good.” He reached across the table to take her hand. “Let’s forget about them for a while. Can we talk about us a little?”

“Steve…”

“Nothing too deep. Just…after the cruise, when we get home…”

“When we get _home_?” she repeated.

“Well, we might have to move, but…I was thinking, maybe we could get a place together. Maybe?”

She didn’t get a chance to answer before the appetizers were delivered. From that moment forward there was barely time to talk as food was eaten and dishes were cleared only to repeat the process. He enjoyed a shrimp cocktail (served in a martini glass to his consternation), chilled strawberry soup (that was totally a delicious thing!), escargot (expanding his palate), a garden salad with Italian dressing (because familiar is good), and filet minion (ditto) before selecting a chocolate lava cake from the dessert menu.

Natasha ordered some kind of fruit tart and smiled at him over a glass of red wine; they’d finished their first bottle – a Sauvignon Blanc – almost before the sommelier had been ready with the Cabernet Franc to accompany their entrée, a crime for which he would whip himself later in the bowels of the ship, if his state of distress was to be believed. Steve still found it strange that every person in a uniform provided by the cruise line greeted you wherever you went and said goodbye when you left. He was downright shocked that Natasha, who usually preferred to remain unseen, could put up with that level of acknowledgment.

When he brought it up, she shrugged. “You play the part.”

“That doesn’t mean….” he began, alarmed.

“Cone, Steve.”

He only managed to remain in control because he had military training and their dessert had not yet been served.

* * *

By the time they returned to their cabin, Steve was no longer thinking about the cone of silence, the plutonium sale or even the shower he thought he probably needed. “Midnight chocolate buffet!” he whined, waving the flier that had been distributed while they’d been at dinner. “Since when do you say no to chocolate?”

“You’d rather have chocolate than sex?”

He blinked several times. “This says it’s chocolate in fountains and waterfalls and unicorns and we can have so much sex afterwards and…” It was strange that liquor didn’t affect him but dinner in the dining room was apparently sending him over the edge. The room spun as he proclaimed, “Holy Mary, a monkey!”

Natasha shook her head as he stumbled over to the balcony doors, where a monkey made of towels was hanging from the curtain rod. “Steve…”

“This is amazing! How did they…?”

“You’re food drunk.” She batted his hands away from the towel creation and pushed him toward the bed. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s a monkey!” His brain felt scrambled in a way foreseen by neither rotgut nor moonshine, but his hands knew exactly where to set themselves as she straddled him. “Where’s your dress?”

She grinned down at him, “On the floor.”

He managed to choke out, “My pants?”

“Be patient. I haven’t unbuttoned your shirt or set up the cone of silence yet.”

“You’re on top of me,” he countered. He was met by an unwelcome chill when she stood from the bed to set up the cone of silence, but used to opportunity to struggle out of his suit and shirt, tossing them onto the floor beside the bed. He closed his eyes and waited. And waited.

He opened his eyes when he heard Natasha speaking to someone on the phone, “Yes, I’d like to order the Couples’ Special for 1285? We would like to send a personalized note. Of course it will be ready in fifteen minutes! Thank you!”

He blinked a few times as he looked at her. “What’s up?”

“We’re sending Dorrie and Tom a fruit basket and bottle of champagne along with a note saying we’re sorry that we fucked up their vacation in slightly gentler language.”

Steve willingly signed his first name to the page when Natasha presented it to him shortly before a steward arrived to accept the note to go with the gift. There were far too many people involved for Steve’s unpracticed taste, but Natasha seemed to think it was fine so…yes. It was fine.

He was willing to spend whatever it took to watch the coast going by as she stood in silhouette in front the balcony, naked and beautiful. “Steve?”

“You’re beautiful and I love you!” he exclaimed before she dove at him. He was vaguely aware of the cone of silence flickering to life around them, though he wouldn’t have had any apologies if it hadn’t.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve rolled onto his stomach and reached across the bed but his hand never contacted Natasha before sliding off the edge. He opened his eyes after a wide yawn. He swept his hand around to confirm the cone of silence wasn’t active and called out, “Nat?”

Her voice drifted through the curtains, fluttering inwards from the open doors, “On the balcony. There’s coffee for you on the desk.”

“’kay.” He took a moment to stretch before standing from bed and pulled the sheet off to wrap around his waist rather than putting in the effort to find any boxers or pants. His body was suffused with a satisfied feeling that would probably disappear with clothing. Pausing at the desk on his way out to the balcony, he blinked down at the large take-out cup. Room service hadn’t knocked and they brought coffee in a pot with cups and saucers on a tray anyway. “Where’d you get that?”

“Place in the Solarium.”

The fact that she was awake and up before him was disconcerting enough, but that she’d also gone out for coffee and come back? Her stealth was unsurprising, but he was usually awake at least an hour or two before this. It probably had something to do with all the amazing sex. Worth it. He shrugged and trudged out to the balcony with his cup, taking heart from the fact it was still hot, so she probably hadn’t been up for long. “You should have gotten me up. We could’ve gone to breakfast.”

“You deserved to get some rest. I’d still be in bed under other circumstances.” She smiled and leaned over to peck his lips as he sank into the other chair. The action caused her robe to fall open slightly, revealing a glimpse of reddish-purple mark on her right breast. He was going to have to be a little gentler with his hickeys, though she hadn’t objected the previous night and didn’t seem to mind. The robe fell a little further as she gestured toward the slowly passing coastline a mile or two distant. “We’re due to anchor in Saint-Tropez in an hour.”

“I thought Ya…” he trailed off as she shot him a glare. Although he doubted anyone was listening in, or that they’d have any idea what he was talking about if they were, discretion was still warranted. He took a sip of coffee to buy himself some time to think. “I, um, I was saying that I thought you wanted to stay aboard the ship today. Do you think there’s going to be anything to see? Uh, from here?”

“Hope so.” She picked up a pair of high-powered binoculars from the deck on the other side of her chair. “I’d hate to think I brought these for nothin’.”

He uncomfortably attempted to play along. “Well, if you don’t see anything interesting, I suppose I might get a good view of some topless ladies on the French beaches.”

She hummed and parted her robe a little more as she looked down. “Guess you’re staying covered today, girls. Steve would prefer a view of other…” She dissolved into giggles as he leaned over, slipping his hand under the robe and pressing his lips to the angle of her neck and shoulders. Her binoculars landed on the deck with a soft clunk that made him think there was a case there so he wouldn’t be in trouble for causing her to break them. He focused on palming her breast with a gentle massage as he nipped over the pulse point on her neck. Although he didn’t consider himself a breast man, he wasn’t unappreciative of any part of Natasha’s perfect body. She moaned softly before whispering, “Don’t get too excited just yet. I‘d like to take a good look at the boats once we anchor, but I’m not really concerned about going ashore. I might even want to stay in our room for most of the day.”

There was a wheezy laugh from the balcony to their left and Steve immediately yanked his hand out of Natasha’s robe, making sure it was adequately closed before pulling her back into their room without a word. He remembered to grab the coffee cups but left the binoculars as he closed the door. He handed one of the cups to her before tugging the curtains closed.

“Did I just meet Kevin?” She seemed more amused than annoyed.

He nodded grimly. “I wouldn’t have taken him for a morning person.”

“People are strange.” She flopped back into the rumpled bed, coffee never budging like the unmoving head of a chicken. Steve decided he needed to spend less time on YouTube when he got back to the safe house. Beyond being reunited with Natasha, he had to admit that it was nice being here on a mission. Being on the run had the consequence of feeling adrift without any clear purpose past remaining hidden. The idea of asking her to come back to the safe house with him shot through his mind again.

He sat beside her, watching as she booted up her computer. Based on her changing facial expressions that went from pleased to elated, he decided to put off any discussion of the non-immediate future and activate the cone of silence with a tap to one of the sensors. When the field had shimmered to life, he asked, “News?”

“Better. The account I’ve tapped of van Rooyen’s contains a guest list.” Her gaze swept up and down the screen. “It’s both better and worse than I expected. Yakushev isn’t on it, but the people who are confirmed…even Nick would smile over this.”

He reached behind her neck and gently rubbed the tight muscles there. “I know you wanted to get Yakushev…”

“Forget him for now. We’ll get him another day.” He had to admire her ability to shift from her desired target to those available. She ticked off the names as she went down the list, pulling up pictures as she described the connections, “Look, Farouk al-Aziz is the chief weapons buyer for ISIS. Can you imagine if they were holding nukes over the world’s collective head? And this one. I first heard about Rhee Ji-Yun years ago; she’s with North Korean intelligence, so if they’re buying it might mean they haven’t been as successful as they want everyone to think producing weapons-grade material. I don’t know anything about this Mellinger guy, but…” She struck a few keys and a dossier appeared. “Ah, here we go. Heinrich Mellinger, German-born arms dealer who works for several different African groups, including the governments of Equatorial Guinea and Zimbabwe. I doubt he’s acting for either of _them_ in this case, but crazier things have happened.”

She went through the entire group of about a dozen similarly dubious men and women, a disturbing number of whom she recognized without having to search for more information. Steve pointed to the screen when she didn’t say anything about the last name on the list. “Who’s that one? Marchesa Lucia della Brignole?”  

“A rich Italian heiress who’s found herself on the wrong side of some bad business decisions and wants to make a power play to recover some lost wealth and prestige. She’s acting on behalf of one of her father’s associates, Niccolo Incazzato. She’s in over her head and everyone there will know it.”

“Um…that’s pretty specific. Do you know her? Is she our in?”

“Something like that.” She turned to him with a look that said he was still an amateur in this particular field. “She’s me, Steve. I dusted off an old alias that Fury and I used on a mission. I’ve still got the documents, so there was less legwork to set it up. The identity carries the added benefit of getting into Italy to meet the ship in Genoa after the mission with no problem.”

Steve blew a long breath out through pursed lips. “What about me? How do I get in there with you?”

“You’re my gorilla.”

“Um…”

“Big, strong, muscle-bound bodyguard that I’m probably also sleeping with.”

He had to smirk. “Probably?”

“We’re talking characters, Steve. I’m thinking that you’re a French freelancer, unless your Italian has vastly improved.”

“Not likely living in Dijon.” He was currently enjoying a fluency in French he hadn’t possessed since the war; of course, even then his Italian had been limited to directions and troop movements. “The only Italian I’ve even bothered with since waking up is food-related.”

“At least you’ve focused on the important things,” she murmured, typing fluidly. “Okay, so you’re going to be Étienne Dubois from…let’s say Lyon.” She seemed to be whipping up a whole life out of the ether of the internet. Before his eyes, Étienne Dubois suddenly had everything from a school career (expelled in 2ème) to a criminal record (assault and battery, among other felony charges that had all been dismissed over the years) and a rarely used Twitter account concerned mostly with European soccer. “The accent isn’t too different, so people should buy it.”

“Accent?” He knew his Brooklyn accent sometimes came out when he was relaxed or stressed or…really whenever the situation seemed to need a little Brooklyn born n’ bred attitude, but he hadn’t noticed any equivalent when he was speaking French. “Really?”

“Yeah, you sound Dijonnais. It’s in the vowels and rs and…forget it. Just speak French if anyone talks to you, which should work out fine in Monaco, and we won’t give ourselves away. If it helps, pretend you’re a goon like Rollins. Remember him?”

Rumlow’s scarred right hand man from SHIELD easy to picture. “Who could forget that jerk?”

“Yeah, well, just be the opposite of you and you might pull it off. Sneer and grunt when possible. No small talk. Speak in short, terse sentences, no big words if you have to actually answer a question. You can do it.”

“Right.” The anxiety he’d felt on the trip from Dijon on the train, which had intensified on the ferry from Nice only to be relieved when he actually met Natasha in Corsica suddenly reared its ugly head. “Everyone coming to this thing is going to have a guy like me, huh?”

“Not in the least. They’re going to have big dumb lumps who are only doing their jobs. I’m the only one showing up with a real super soldier.”

“Nat…”

A pained look crossed her face, though she maintained her typing speed. “I know it looks bad, but I wouldn’t have asked anyone but you to come. I could come up with another cover for you, if you want.”

“It’s not that.” He hated that she was still feeling insecure about their relationship even though, after their confessions the day before, he would have walked into the casino in full Captain America gear if she’d asked him to. Looking back, it was hard to think of a moment in their relationship when he would have refused any request she made. He liked to think that she could have asked him to confront Loki in New York while wearing one of those ‘banana hammocks’ she had shown him the previous day without a second thought.

Maybe nothing _that_ crazy, but…he would do anything she asked him to do right now, mostly because he trusted her not to ask him to do anything she didn’t think necessary or that she wholly believed he could do. “You don’t have to convince me of anything.”

“You’re not just my hired…”

He cut off her assurance with a kiss, lips pressing firmly against hers until she let his tongue enter her mouth. It was completely sexual while lacking any further intent. He didn’t place his hands anywhere suggestive as he rolled into her body, just pursued the kiss until she lightly pushed him away.

“Steve, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“I know, I just…” He pressed another kiss to her neck, but a rumble from his stomach interrupted further activity.  “You wanna go get breakfast?”

“I could eat,” she replied with a grin. “Sharing intel works up an appetite.”

“Sharing with who?”

“You. Don’t make me reevaluate my ‘gorilla’ thing.”

He managed to hoot and pound his chest before they both dissolved into laughter. All the dining options on the ship were serving lunch by the time they made it out of their cabin.


	8. Chapter 8

“You know what this ship could really use?”

Steve considered Natasha’s question. He figured that she was being sarcastic, considering the ship had an ice rink, rock climbing wall and weird surfing pool – and that was just on the deck they were currently wandering around as they waited for housekeeping to finish cleaning their cabin because neither of them had thought to hang the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door when they’d finally left for lunch. It wasn’t such a terrible situation, considering they were holding hands and strolling like he’d always imagined doing with a woman he was in a relationship with, though in his mind’s eye he’d pictured a nice park rather than such an oddly constructed setting. Still, her fingers threaded so naturally with his and she returned his occasional squeezes. He was happy to indulge in a fun hypothetical before they really got down to serious mission prep. “Okay, I’ll bite. What could the ship really use?”

She paused at the railing just past the pool and looked at him seriously. “A bouncy castle.”

He had to think for a moment before he recalled the ad that had aired on a seemingly constant loop on late-night TV in DC for a rental company that offered inflatable structures for parties and such. The most memorable thing about it had been the shouting clown. Steve remembered thinking any kind who had a party like that in Brooklyn when he was growing up would get the shit kicked out of him no matter how fun it looked, if only for showing up all the other kids in the neighborhood. He forced himself not to picture Bucky leading the baying mob of grubby ten-year-olds as he slipped his arm around Natasha’s shoulders, bared by her navy blue halter dress with white detailing – she had described it that way when he had complimented her sexy nautical look. He blinked to remind himself that they weren’t talking about the past or wardrobe choices, but something more interesting. “Seriously?”

“You know what I’m talking about? Remember that ad with the angry clown?” He mostly remembered her mocking the spokes-clown while watching late-night comedy shows early in their partnership; she had claimed it was a good way to get caught up on pop culture. She waited for him to nod before going on, “I know they tend to tip over or blow away when the wind gets too strong and that could be a serious problem on a ship, even though the thing would float if it did blow overboard…”

“Even I know that’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“At least you’ve learned one valuable lesson this century.” She pecked his lips and turned to look out at the harbor, her tanned forearms settling on the polished wooden railing. He leaned beside her, watching her rather than the view toward shore in spite of the pretty yellow and pink buildings beyond the deep blue water dotted with boats of all types and sizes, from white luxury yachts to colorful smaller sailing vessels to austere fishing boats. She had taken a long time looking over all of them with her binoculars earlier to confirm that Yakushev’s 90-foot white behemoth was not present, but she was still squinting at the mass of boats as if the man himself would suddenly jump up from a nondescript deck and start waving a giant flag or something. Steve’s conviction that she was thinking about the mission disappeared when she eventually continued, “Someday, you and me are going to get a bouncy castle and have sex in it.”

He had to take a moment to ensure that he had just bitten his tongue and not actually severed part of it. “You’re kidding.”

“Oh, come on. What’s not genius about that?  You’d get the reciprocal bouncing and I think it would really be fun. Next you’re going to be objecting to trampoline sex, which would probably be more practical, given the availability of backyard trampolines.”

He sighed, hoping this wasn’t some kind of complaint about his performance, which would be surprising given how much yelling she seemed to do. “Is it really so boring when we’re in bed?”

“Not even a little.” She stepped in front of him and wrapped her arms around his neck, although she was still facing toward the harbor. “I’m just saying that there’s always the option to do it different, should you ever want to try.”

“Hmph.”

“The bed is fantastic with you,” she whispered almost too quietly for him to hear as a sea breeze caught her voice, but he felt her lean back into his chest slightly. He hummed into her hair, nuzzling into the blonde tresses. He could almost picture them bouncing around his face like they did when she was on top. Maybe a trampoline would be interesting.

Before he could admit to any such thoughts, he felt a presence to the left. A clipped British accent declared, “Stay away from my family or I call my bosses.”

Natasha wasn’t nearly as startled as Steve, maintaining her position facing the harbor and asking, “And you are your bosses, Ann?”

Dorrie’s daughter, Ann, surreptitiously reached into the pocket of her loose pants and displayed an ID from MI-6. Natasha gave it a curt nod, so Steve assumed it was legitimate. He was aware that he was probably holding Natasha a little too hard as Ann put away the ID and continued, speaking forward off the ship’s railing, “I may be in Logistics, but I can still recognize international fugitives quite easily. I mean, you didn’t even change your first names! Aren’t you supposed to be better spies than that?”

“Of course we are,” Natasha replied. “Traveling on a giant cruise ship and using our real names is a totally amateur move, which is why no one would be looking for us here. I’m guessing you only recognized us by chance.” Steve found himself relaxing slightly as she talked. She was using a conversational tone rather than a confrontational one, but there was a serious edge to her words. “But you would have already turned us in if you were going to do it, because you’ve known who we are since we had cocktails, if not even earlier in Ajaccio.” Natasha had to be winging it now, because she hadn’t mentioned anything about this revelation to Steve, but he didn’t interrupt her. “You must be about to explain why, or you wouldn’t have approached us.”

“Right. I haven’t told anyone, not even my husband.” Ann, to her credit, didn’t seem fazed by Natasha’s deceptive nonchalance, continuing, “The only reason I haven’t reported you being here yet is because I don’t think you _would_ be here just for a holiday. You’re here because you think something is about to happen that you’ll need to prevent or intervene or whatever. I need to know that my family isn’t in danger.”

To Steve’s surprise, Natasha asked, “What does your shore schedule look like for the next few days?”

“We’re planning on staying aboard the rest of today and tomorrow, tour of Genoa in two days, trip to Florence and Pisa in three days…”

“You’ll be fine,” Natasha interrupted. “Are we good?”

“Yes.” Ann hesitated. “Is there anything…can I help?”

“We’ve got it covered, but we’ll let you know.” To Steve’s shock, Natasha added, “Just stay aboard until Genoa.”

“And my family?”

“Like I said, they’ll be completely safe on the ship.”

“Thank you.” Ann grasped Natasha’s hand for a moment. “And thank you for your kindness to my parents. I shouldn’t have screamed at them in the dining room, but knowing who you are…my parents can make their own decisions, but I won’t risk my children’s safety. I hope you understand.”

“We’re trouble. We know. But we’re trying to do the right thing, no matter what people think of us.”

“I know you are.” Ann seemed to give Natasha’s hand a final squeeze before moving away.

Steve wanted to say something, but Natasha hushed him. “Not here.” She dropped her head back onto his shoulder for a moment.  He wasn’t sure if she was talking about Yakushev’s yacht or Ann’s shocking exchange, but held his tongue until she added, “Housekeeping should be done with our cabin by now, but I’d love a latte before we head back.”

“Sure.” He threaded his fingers through hers again as they walked to the ship’s coffee bar. He could think of nothing other than the way her dress hugged her waist only to flare out over her hips as they waited for the barista to prepare their drinks because the 21st century was immeasurably strange, no matter how many times he ordered coffee. He picked up their cups when his name was called and handed one to her, their fingers making contact as he passed it to her. It was so insignificant yet so meaningful. “Nat…”

“Let’s just get back to our cabin, babe.”

He followed behind her without complaint. He had every confidence that she had planned the entire mission out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short chapter, but I promise the next will be longer. Probably.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve was starting to feel hungry again after hours of discussion and reading related to tomorrow’s mission. He leaned against the headboard inside the cone of silence, barely studying the files that Natasha had downloaded onto a tablet about the people expected at what they had agreed was probably an auction for the plutonium. He was fairly certain that he had all the information memorized, but she was still busy on her laptop. He had stopped asking about her occasional and varied sighs because they were inevitably ‘nothing.’

He was about to reread the dossier on her own alias for the eighth time to make sure he had all the details down cold when she said, “Maybe Ann _could_ do something for us.”

It took him a moment to realize that this was not, in fact, a mission-related detail that they had been repeating ad infinitum. “Huh?”

Natasha was looking at him in a way that made him nervous, an expectant mix of innocence and guile. “Well, we’re going to be off the ship overnight. We’ll put the sign on the door to stop housekeeping from coming in, but they’ll still leave the daily schedule and whatever else outside. I can hack the system to make it look like we got back on the ship in Monaco and then off again in Genoa, but it’ll still look like we never left our room and if they check the room service log…”

“You can’t just hack that too?”

“I guess. But if someone else knows anyway…she did offer to help.”

An odd feeling bubbled through his stomach at the sight of her continued sweet smile. He’d seen her smile like that when hulking lugs with semi-automatic weapons charged her, only to be groaning on the floor seconds later.  “Since when do you accept help from random strangers?”

“She’s not random. She’s MI-6.” Natasha shrugged and turned back to her computer, face settling into a neutral expression. “Besides, if she agrees to do it, that makes her complicit and less likely to rat us out.”

“Ah.” His stomach immediately settled.

“What?”

 “No, you just sound like you again.”

“Devious and conniving?”

“I was going to say covering all your bases and throwing in some extra infielders, but your description is much more stomach-turning.” He liked it better when she shot straight with him, but he didn’t like her occasional instinct to deny that she was actually a good person. “You already know I trust you unconditionally. Would it be so difficult to trust me a little more?”

“Steve, I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. Guess padding the truth is just a hard habit to break.”

He set the tablet aside, feeling slightly guilty. It was true he’d feel better about asking for Ann’s assistance without thinking they were just using her and Natasha did have a point about making it seem like they were aboard the ship. He turned and pressed a kiss under her ear, whispering, “Nat, I wasn’t…”

“I know, and I absolutely trust you, but…hold that thought.” She gently pushed him away and clicked a blinking alert that had just popped up on her screen. A genuine smile spread across her face. “Backup’s coming.”

He squinted at the message, which was written in some kind of alphabet-blending code. “Clint?”

“I wouldn’t involve him. Or Sam or Wanda. Two wanted fugitives involved here is enough, don’t you think? Besides, there’s no guarantee we’ll get away clean and they’ve done their time.”

He swallowed hard, not wanting to remember his trip to the Raft, seeing his friends caged like animals for their loyalty to him, Wanda strait-jacketed and wearing a shock collar to prevent her from using her powers… An even more alarming thought popped up in his mind, in spite of her assurances from the day before. “Not Banner…”

“Hardly.” Her smile got even brighter as she scrolled further through the message, which also included some diagrams. “Steve, an operation is like a symphony. No matter how skilled the players, they need someone guiding them to keep them all on the beat. We’re going to need someone on the outside for an unexpected outcome and my favorite conductor has just joined our little orchestra.”

“Can we fill him in quickly enough?” he asked in reply, although it was calming to hear that Nick Fury was going to be there for them in a supporting role. Steve could still remember the relief that had flooded through him when Fury’s voice had come over the comms in Sokovia just prior to the helicarrier’s appearance. “And aren’t we more of a duet?”

“Don’t question my analogy.”

Steve sighed with a weak smile. “So where are we meeting Fury? Your safe house?”

“No, now we’ve got an actual safe house and we don’t have to use Tony’s apartment.”

His rising calm was immediately supplanted by confusion and anger. “We’re relying on _Stark_?”

“No! I was planning to break into his apartment in La Condamine because he never uses it and it’s basically always empty and…”

Forcing himself not to jump out of bed and thus outside the cone of silence, he instead grabbed her wrist to stop her from typing as he interrupted her, “Why were you involving Stark at all? You could have mentioned _that_ part of your plan at some point!”

“Forgiveness versus permission.” She twisted out of his grip and turned her attention back to the screen, not making eye contact. “Besides, it doesn’t matter now. We don’t have to worry about sneaking our clothes or tech off the ship, because she’s bringing it in for us, plus weapons, plus transport, _plus_ we’re going to have a more secure command post right in Monte Carlo.”

He managed to pick out the one detail that didn’t improve his opinion of the mission. “Wait, she? Who’s coming? I thought you were talking about Fury stepping in.”

“Nick isn’t welcome in Monaco. He had an unfortunate argument with the Prince and…I don’t think I should tell you. Nothing personal, but Nick always finds out when…”

“ _That_ you don’t need to explain.” Steve turned onto his stomach and stretched his arm across Natasha’s thighs, just under her laptop. “But if Fury isn’t coming…”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to be lurking somewhere nearby in France because I did let him know what’s about to go down, but whatever. And before you start thinking it, I didn’t tell you I reached out to him and Maria because I wasn’t sure if she’d be able to pull everything together in time and I didn’t want to get your hopes up about having competent backup, okay?”

“Maria?” He needed a moment before pairing the casual mention with the more formal address he was used to. “You mean Agent Hill?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“What? No! Not at all! If anything, it makes me feel better about the mission that another person I trust is involved.” He didn’t mention that he was far more pleased about Agent Hill’s involvement than Fury’s; she got things done without leaving you feeling like something else had also been accomplished. Maybe it would even be okay if they involved Ann… Steve tried to put the specifics out of his mind as he nuzzled against Natasha’s thigh, pushing the skirt of her dress up with his nose. “Sam will be disappointed I didn’t bring him along when he finds out she was here. Agent Hill, I mean.”

“You can always put in a good word for him. I’ll let you know that she’s interested.”

“Why would she tell you?”

“Um, because she already has and she totally is, but I feel like the particulars of a long distance relationship at this point are a little daunting, so let’s not tell him just yet because he probably has enough going on, right?”

He was momentarily distracted from his goal at the meeting of her thighs. “Hold on. Are you saying that Maria Hill and Sam have a…”

“Realistic chance? Yeah, I’m saying that. It would seem strange if you and I weren’t already…” She curled forward at the moment he pushed his fingers past the seam of her skimpy panties. “Steve, God…”

“Break time?” He dropped his head down and pressed his lips against the softer skin of her inner thigh. “Then dinner?”

“I’m trying to confirm the details of…” The cone of silence flickered as her computer tipped off her lap but fortunately didn’t fall off the bed when he pushed his fingers into her. “Holy… _Steve_!”

He was suddenly hungry for something other than dinner. 

* * *

 

Steve poked through the offerings at the salad bar, unenthusiastically scooping a rainbow of raw veggies onto his plate. He usually liked the fresh produce available anytime in this century, but right now it was just too much. It was disconcerting to think he actually appreciated the full service in the dining room, where he didn’t have to make any decisions himself. The sheer amount of food on display was daunting, something he hadn’t really taken in during their previous meal at the buffet because he had been so happy just being with Natasha again. He was still happy to be with her, of course, just less distracted this time. He dumped two generous ladlefuls of ranch dressing onto his greens before making his way back to the table he and Natasha had claimed with the strategic placement of soft drinks not long before. She was already eating a salad that looked far more appealing than his. He eyed her plate suspiciously. “Do you have bacon bits?”

“And croutons.” She calmly speared a cucumber and several spinach leaves, letting the purplish dressing drip for a moment. “You obviously missed the last station.”

“Nat…” He found it much harder than she did to act like they weren’t going to be in very real danger in the very near future.

“I think they’ve got a lobster bar tonight, if you’re up for it.”

It took him a moment to realize he had zoned out thinking about the mission. He smiled and chewed a bite of salad, forcing himself to enjoy himself at least a little. He was having a post-coital meal with Natasha, after all. “Well, I guess I could have some seafood.”

He had managed to get over his discomfiture regarding the impending operation and the ridiculous amount of food and was, in fact, enthusiastically cracking into his second lobster when a wheezy laugh rose from the table to the right as it was suddenly occupied. “Hey, Steve. Look, Barb, our neighbors are our neighbors!”

Steve forced himself to stop digging the meat out of a claw to acknowledge the man from the cabin beside theirs. “Oh. Hi, Kevin.”

Kevin grinned, but he had already turned his attention to Natasha. “Hey, pretty lady. Guess I’ve got you to thank for indirectly introducing us.” He leaned over his loaded plate of bright orange chicken wings dripping with sauce and gave her a lecherous wink. “Steve’s not quite as enthusiastic as you, so you’ll have to tell me your name.”

“Natasha,” she said, ignoring the gooey hand he offered as she picked up her drink to take a sip. She did reach out to Kevin’s wife. “Hi. We’re apparently next door to you. I’m Natasha and this is Steve.”

Kevin’s companion, with her large brunette bouffant and conspicuous margarita replied, “Hey, I’m Barbara. I’m so sorry about my husband. I know how embarrassing he is. I never would have let him leave that awful note if I’d known!”

Steve had to bite back a chuckle as Natasha replied, “Not a problem. I hope we haven’t disturbed you.”

“Oh, honey, don’t you worry. You’re young, you’re both gorgeous; You should be having all the fun you can!”

The couple ended up being very talkative, one filling in for the other as they took turns hitting various stations of the buffet. It turned out that Kevin and Barbara Harrison were from Jersey City and took a cruise every summer when they could have a good excuse for not babysitting their many grandkids. They spent the next twenty minutes expressing their opinions about the tristate area, with special emphasis on how nice it was that Steve and Natasha lived in Queens rather than a ‘mindless hipster enclave’ in Brooklyn. It was good Natasha was wearing sandals rather than heels, because Steve was pretty sure she would have put more than one hole in his feet and legs with the warning kicks and stomps she kept giving him under the table every time Brooklyn was maligned, in spite of the fact that he hadn’t lived there in nearly eighty years. He was discovering a huge difference between people who had lived in Brooklyn and people who simply had an opinion about Brooklyn.

Steve was halfway through a piece of strawberry cheesecake when Kevin said, “Yeah, those kids in Williamsburg don’t know the difference between…”

“I grew up in Bay Ridge,” he interrupted. “Brooklyn is a nice place.”

Kevin nearly choked on a meatball. Barbara shook her head. “Sorry. Ever since our son David moved there, it’s been all about tight pants and strange beers. We forget that normal people live there, too.”

Steve immediately felt bad he’d snapped at Kevin, but Natasha didn’t give him a chance to apologize. She smoothed her dress as she stood and dropped her napkin on the table. “Well, it’s been nice chatting with you, but we’re going to head back. We need a good night sleep so we’re ready to see Monaco tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sleep,” Kevin replied with a wink, having regained his composure. “Nighty-night.”

“I’m sure we’ll see you around!” Barbara added.

Steve gave them a weak wave as Natasha pulled him toward the exit. They found themselves alone in the elevator moments later, where she emphatically whispered, “If Kevin or Barbara turns out to be vacationing CIA, I swear to God…”

He pulled her against his side with an arm around her shoulders. “We can’t possibly be that unlucky.”

She grumbled something that sounded like an argument, but he let it go, happier to focus on the thought of spending the night in bed with her. Sleeping. He thought he caught a little gleam in her eye that told him their activities might be more varied and he rushed to follow her into their cabin.


	10. Chapter 10

Monaco looked like a city that was about to fall into the sea, in Steve’s opinion. The dark green hills that rose into the fog behind the high-rise buildings would seem like a better place to build, though they were apparently in France and not Monaco, as Natasha had mentioned before dressing quickly and disappearing on a coffee run. He had put on the clothes she’d set out for him and taken up a position by the railing on their balcony to consider the lay of the land. There wasn’t that much land to really consider. He still wasn’t clear on just why the very, very tiny country even rated as a nation, considering he could see the whole of it from the balcony of their cabin as the cruise ship approached the harbor, but he supposed it wasn’t up to him to decide who got to be a country and who didn’t. He wasn’t even legally allowed in most countries these days.

Part of him wished they had woken up inbound to a different place this morning. With the cruise ship’s set schedule, it had be surprisingly easy to forget that he wasn’t just on vacation. Today, though…today was the day. It was the whole reason Natasha had asked him to be here. They were going to save the world. He had to admit, it felt good to be back at work after months of relative inactivity. There was only so much he could do to maintain security at the safe house in Dijon and it never filled up the hours in the day like real operations did. The only things missing here were the rest of the team and his shield. He held up his arm in a defensive posture, as if his memory could block all the trouble sure to come at them today.

Only the harbor came closer as the ship slowly crept through the flat, grey sea. He hoped the fog would burn off as the morning wore on.

“Makes you glad Stark hasn’t thought to buy his own country yet, huh?” Natasha said, suddenly appearing beside him at the railing, offering him a tall white cup. “You’d think meeting T’Challa would have given him the idea, not that T’Challa bought Wakanda but…”

He let her go on about royalty as he tried to breathe deeply to slow his racing heart. They were going to have to talk about the instinctive sneaking once this mission was concluded; he suspected she wasn’t doing it intentionally but out of long habit, though he wouldn’t have put it past her to be purposely freaking him out. He supposed it was cute, in its way. Maybe. Wait, what had she said? His heart suddenly sped up again.  “Could Stark actually _do_ that? Buy a country?”

“I think that’s pretty much how the Grimaldis got this place nine-hundred years ago, although they may have also staged a monk coup.” She grasped his chin and directed his gaze as she pointed to a large building on a rocky outcrop to their left, preventing him from asking for the definition of a ‘monk coup.’ “They still live in the palace over there.”

Though he had once again started thinking about Stark – and the fact that they had come within a day of using one of his properties, even without permission – Steve willingly looked in the direction indicated. “That big stone one with the arches?”

“That’s the Oceanographic Museum. The palace is just behind it, with the red roofs and a grey tower sort of thing.”

“Oh. I think I see it. With the yellow in front?”

“That’s it.”

As the ship continued toward the dock, she pointed out some other points of interest, including the opera house with the casino where the meet would occur on the opposite side, the vaguely yacht-shaped yacht club and barges involved in land reclamation on the eastern end of the country’s coast. He wasn’t sure if she’d learned all this information from mission-related research or some other source. “How do you know so much about Monaco?”

“It’s a popular money laundering spot and attracts some unscrupulous rich people,” she replied with a shrug, still ceaselessly scanning the area as she drank her coffee. “No taxes, either.”

“So, what? It’s a lawless zone? Like international waters?”

“Hardly. They take security very seriously here. I think London is the only place with more extensive CCTV coverage, so petty crime is basically nonexistent. They’re also known for having people standing in the train station to hustle backpackers right back onto the EuroRail.” She waved a hand toward the large yachts and high-rise buildings that lined the harbor. “It’s the white-collar and cyber stuff they have to worry about. The vast majority of people who live here are the legit super-rich, with their ridiculous standards and all that frippery. Monaco is built on catering to the wealthy. It’s just that when you have anywhere where there’s a lot of money…”

“…you have criminals,” he concluded. “Also, frippery?”

“What? That’s a thing.” She turned to him with a smirk. “Think you can pretend not to be impressed with anything today?”

He tore his gaze away from the huge mass of yachts floating in front of them to face her again. “Depends on what you’re wearing to the casino.”

“Oh, Maria sent me a picture. Definitely hotter than the dress I brought for myself. I think I may have to change early so you can get used to it.”

“Nat…” he groaned as a slight bump accompanied the ship’s arrival at the dock. He reminded himself that they were currently within a square mile of a significant payload of nuclear material. It was time to get down to business. He gulped down the rest of his coffee, ignoring the burn from his mouth to his stomach, before he followed her back into the room. Once he had closed the balcony door, he asked, “Ready?”

“It’ll be a few minutes before we can get off the ship. Put the TV on the ship’s channel so when know when we can leave.”

“I don’t want to watch Cruise Director Peter chatter for however long it takes.” He flopped back onto the bed as he watched Natasha sort through the contents of her tote bag again. “Won’t there be a ding and an announcement when…” He gestured toward the ceiling as the ‘bing bong’ sounded. “Should we get going?”

“Anything you need overnight?”

“I think we’re set. You put my toothbrush in your bag before I even got to use it this morning.”

“Please, your super-saliva kills your morning breath. And mine if we wake up and make out.”

That was an invitation, coming from her. He sprang from the bed to press her against the wall for a long kiss, trying to tell her how much he loved her with his lips and tongue and his hands on her hips. He had to remind himself it was likely their last chance before the mission rather than their last chance ever. He lingered against her mouth, his eyes fluttering open only when he backed off. He bumped his nose against hers, still crowding her against the wall. He breathed, “I love you.”

“Shh. We’re not saying goodbye. We’re just going to work, okay?” She pecked his lips again before slipping from his grasp and walking to the door, tote bag and floppy hat in hand. He briefly wondered how many straw hats she’d brought. Maybe they were like the leather jackets of the Mediterranean. He lost the train of thought as she purposefully hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on their doorknob. They made their way to the elevators. He needed to get his head in the game. This was it. This was the mission.

Unfortunately, they weren’t able to cross the lobby to the gangway without being sucked into further British family vacation drama. This time, it was Ann who saw them and immediately gestured to them to approach her with her parents. Steve and Natasha hadn’t ever made contact with Ann about their impending absence, so she was still a big question mark hanging over them. For her part, Dorrie seemed delighted that her daughter was making an effort to be kind to the American who had assisted her in Ajaccio. Steve had a sinking feeling in his gut. If only she knew the truth as she reached toward them with both hands and kissed their cheeks. “Steve! Natasha! Thank you ever so much for your lovely gift the other night. Not necessary, but so considerate! If only our Anne hadn’t gotten too much sun that day!”

“Oh, we bumped into Ann yesterday afternoon and she explained that it was all a misunderstanding, so everything is fine now,” Natasha replied with a smile. Steve smiled and remained silent as she squeezed his hand. “She mentioned that you were all planning on staying aboard today. I think the sun will be out in a bit, so you’ll have a nice day by the pool.”

“Well, that was the plan, but Tom is so keen on seeing the famous casino…”

“Nothing wrong with catching some of the sights since we’re here, eh?” Tom said, nudging Steve with his elbow in a conspiratorial way. “No other reason for Monaco being here.”

“It’s your own choice.” Ann sighed deeply. “I just think it’s…it’s a waste of money.”

“Come now, Annie. It’s my money, earned by hard work! And we just want to see what all the fuss is about! Don’t you know how many times James Bond has been to Monte Carlo?”

“Dad, I just…”

“If you do decide to visit, you should be back aboard by six,” Natasha interrupted. She flashed a meaningful look at Ann. “I hear Monaco gets _very expensive_ at night.”

“Well, we’re hardly dressed for _that_ ,” Dorrie said. “I’m afraid I left all my evening gowns in 1970!”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Steve said, settling his hand on Dorrie’s shoulder. She was wearing a loud flowery top and short pants. He was sure not to look at Natasha in her pretty sundress as he added, “You look very nice.”

“Thank you, Steve!” She looped her arm through his. “Would you be kind enough to escort us off the ship?”

He allowed himself to be led toward the gangway by Dorrie and Tom as Natasha took the time to speak to Ann. He resigned himself to getting an update later as he checked out through the metal detector and scanner with his elderly friends. He tried not to think about what that said about him.

He tried to observe his surroundings as they strode down the pier. His gaze fixed on three large boats moored nearby – one cream colored, one all white, one white and blue. They looked like smaller versions of the white ship they had arrived on.  “Are those other cruise ships?”

“I believe those are some of the private yachts of the Monegasque,” Dorrie replied. “Bit much, if you ask me.”

“If you can afford it…” Tom said, seizing Dorrie’s cane and waving toward the luxury yachts. “Wish my pension fund covered something like that, but I guess you can’t expect so much from the RAF.”

“Royal Air Force?” Steve asked, cringing inwardly. It made sense that Ann had a government job if her father had been a career serviceman. He’d had plenty of non-inebriating drinks with RAF pilots during the War to celebrate successful raids. “Thank you for your service.”

“And yours, Captain,” Tom replied. He suddenly turned and extended his hand. “I’d hate to think our Annie was the only one to recognize a hero like you.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “I…”

“Please don’t,” Dorrie interrupted. “I was one of the children evacuated during the Blitz. You were a symbol of the hope we all had for victory after such terror. We spoke to Annie and…you and Natasha should do what needs to be done.” She squeezed his biceps tightly. “Godspeed.”

Dorrie and Tom were walking away down the pier when Natasha caught up with him. “Um, Nat…”

“I know. Ann told me.” She was surprisingly calm about the fact that their entire operation had been exposed. “Ann’s going to grab our daily schedules, okay?”

Steve hoped their safe house was much safer than the cruise ship as they meandered along the harbor.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve tried to remember Natasha’s advice about acting unimpressed in Monaco, but he was pretty sure he’d just seen a fourth bright red Ferrari cruise past them on the street they were walking along. He wasn’t totally caught up on the high-performance cars of the 21st century, but his knowledge base was fairly strong as a result of his relationship with Tony Stark. Stark probably fit right in here. It was better not to think about Stark right now, considering how close they had come to breaking into his property and potentially walked into a confrontation with Stark himself, even though Natasha had confirmed that he was in New York. Steve was distracted as a low, angular yellow sports car passed. “This place is insane.”

“Yeah, Maria said she could get us something Italian to drive, but I didn’t want to be so ostentatious. See how everyone on the street is watching that Lamborghini?” She turned away from the car and leaned against him as they strolled in a casual manner, though he got a nudge every time they needed to turn. “It’s just an overrated tractor. Anyway, I think we’re driving an Aston Martin today. Much more practical.”

He didn’t ask about her tractor comment, but he knew she had to be baiting him with the car make. “A James Bond car is less noticeable?”

“Aw, I’m proud of you for making the connection. And I said more practical, not less noticeable. Valets will park it right out front so we can make a quick getaway once we’ve got what we want.” She glanced at the window display of a lingerie shop, not stopping to look but firmly stoking his forearm with a familiar grip that had him blushing. At least they were out in the hot sun and people would assume it was related to that. She was unflappable, still talking about the car, “Don’t be disappointed that it’s a factory standard, though, so there won’t be headlight missiles or anything like that.”

He considered asking if only Fury could provide that particular model, but bit his tongue as he spotted a camera mounted outside some kind of upscale scarf boutique. Natasha had warned him not to say too much until they were in the safe house. He supposed discussion of expensive cars was a common topic on the streets here, so he asked, “Am I going to get to drive this amazing car that doesn’t have secret guns and stuff?”

“Naturally. Titled people don’t drive themselves.”

“Of course not, your…highness?” He dropped his voice to a whisper, “What do you call a marchesa?”

“I’m sure there’s an official address in the annals of protocol, but you can just go with ‘My Lady.’”

“ _My_ lady?”

“Thought you’d like that.” She pecked his cheek, her lips pressing just above his beard. “Of course, you’ll be speaking French, so it’s just ‘Madame.’” His momentary lift of publicly proclaiming Natasha _his_ deflated, even with their new commitment, until she added, “You can feel free to put a protective hand on my lower back whenever you think it’s necessary to remind anyone in the vicinity to keep away. I won’t mind.”

“So…” He tried it out now and she grinned. “Feel protected?”

“Cheeky.” She suddenly tensed under his casual embrace. He couldn’t see where her eyes were focused behind her dark sunglasses, but she quietly hissed, “Your two o’clock.”

He glanced to the right, immediately spotting arms dealer Heinrich Mellinger stepping out of a car with a silver trident logo emblazoned on the grille just up the street from them. Steve came to an abrupt stop as Natasha paused in front of a shop displaying leather handbags in its window. He wasn’t sure if she had a better angle on Mellinger from her line of sight, so he asked, “Well?”

To his surprise, she pointed at something in the window.  “Oh, I love that one! Look at the fringe! So cute!” It took him a moment to realize she was indicating the reflection in the plate glass rather than the gaudy lime green purse. Mellinger was handing his keys over to a large man in a dark suit. He was coming toward them, walking just past them. Natasha went on, in French, “I don’t know about the color, though. I could match it, obviously, but do you think it would work with my skin tone?”

“Uhhh…sure?” Steve replied, not sure what he was expected to say. Mellinger gave him a sympathetic look as he walked by on the way to a non-commercial door.

Natasha continued as if a potential plutonium buyer hadn’t just come within feet of them, “Yes, I think you’re right. It wouldn’t work. Besides, I think that style is a little too Spring.” She tugged him up the street abruptly as Mellinger disappeared. “Okay, no more window shopping. We need to get to our place.”

“Then we just…” His head was pounding as indignation coursed through his veins. “He was right there!”

“Focus on tonight. We have to get the payload, not the players.”

“But…”

“Walk, Steve.” She was silent for a while as they made their way uphill. “You really think we would have accomplished anything accosting him in the street in front of all those civilians and their smart phones?”

He grunted in response. She was right, but that didn’t make it less frustrating. He glanced back over his shoulder to see if Mellinger was still visible before the turned the corner before they’d left the block. Steve was still annoyed about the failure when Natasha walked through a door opened by a uniformed man and confidently pressed a button at the elevator bank on the other side of the lobby, passing marble columns and glass sculptures.

She squeezed his hand in both of hers. “Stay calm, hm?”

The fact that they had passed by the concierge desk without giving their names, real or false, seemed suspicious to him, but he didn’t have time to consider it as they were soon traveling upward. The hallway they emerged in was marble-lined with dark wood wainscoting that seemed unnecessarily flashy to Steve. He watched Natasha knock on the door where they stopped in a pattern that sounded like Morse code, though it sounded like she’d spelled out ‘avocadotoast.’ Before he could make sense of the code sequence, the door opened on an unamused Agent Hill. “That was a terrible code phrase.”

“At least I didn’t charge you fifteen bucks for it,” Natasha replied, equally serious. She and Agent Hill immediately dissolved into hugs and cheek-kisses that left him more confused than ever.

He extended a hand as soon as the door was finally closed. “Agent Hill. It’s always good to have you onboard.”

Agent Hill took his hand and shook it forcefully. “Always a pleasure, Captain.”  She immediately turned toward Natasha. “Is there anything left aboard the ship that could compromise you?”

“I brought my computer and the cone of silence sensors, plus all our documents, so you’ll have that to take with you when you go.” Natasha handed her tote bag to Agent Hill. “And we’re clear. We’ll need our key cards back after the op, though.”

“Good. Then there’s nothing on the ship that can implicate you if things go south?”

“Other than DNA?”

“Nothing to track you, I mean. Even if anyone finds out it was you two, other than your British friends.”

Steve was distracted from his assessment of the apartment, of which he could only see the foyer and great room, with the knowledge that apartments didn’t need foyers. “You told her about Dorrie and Ann and…”

“I needed a check to corroborate what we already know. Maria?”

“They were easy enough to track.” Agent Hill led the way deeper into the apartment to a bank of computers she’d set up on the dining room table. She pushed a few files around until she found the one she wanted to hand to him. She didn’t bother to let him read it for himself, saying, “Ann Hughes née Wright is, in fact, a lower-level employee of MI-6, mainly engaged in supply chain management with non-classified materials. MI-6 is currently not running any operations in Monaco, though Interpol is going to have eyes-on, so be aware.

“Anyhow, Royal Air Force Master Signaller Thomas Wright, retired, and his wife, Dorcas ‘Dorrie’ Wright née Jones, retired schoolteacher, are even…”

“Stop,” Steve interrupted. His hands were shaking as he looked down at the file Agent Hill had assembled on their chance acquaintances. As an afterthought he added, “Please.”

“It’s better to know and be sure than it is to take an unnecessary risk.” She picked up another file. “Kevin and Barbara Harrison of Jersey City are clean, no connections to anyone on our radar.”

“Agent Hill…”

“Maria is just doing her job,” Natasha interrupted. “I sent her the information on the people we’d interacted with on the ship and she made sure we haven’t been compromised.”

“Yeah? Well…what if one of Ann’s kids posted a picture of us on some…Facebook or something?” Steve felt his chest constricting as the implications of the mission suddenly came home. “We’re talking about a nuclear bomb. What if we don’t get the plutonium? What then?”

“I’m monitoring all the major social media sites for mentions of either of you, and there hasn’t been anything out of the ordinary over the past few days. As for the plutonium, it’s safe as long as there isn’t a way to catalyze it.”

He wanted to hit Agent Hill, an uncomfortable sensation under the calmest circumstances. “I just don’t want…there shouldn’t be civilians involved in…”

“We’re not dealing with normal civilians, Steve.” He met Natasha’s fierce gaze as she grasped his jaw. “We’re going into a situation with arms dealers and rogue nations. They’re as well equipped as we are. We saw Mellinger with his Maserati, remember?”

He blinked before she did. “Yeah. We saw him and we just…”

“We let him go. I know. Because we didn’t have anything to legally hold him on because being an asshole isn’t an international crime, but…we don’t have that kind of authority anyway. We’re going to get the plutonium tonight and that has to be our focus. That’s our mission.”

“I just…”

“I know. Hey, we don’t have to go back to the ship afterwards, okay? We can take a real vacation or go back to the safe house.”

Steve suddenly had a sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the mission. “I never gave you the pictures.”

Natasha’s hands dropped from his cheeks as her face fell. Agent Hill asked, “What pictures?”

“Clint…he gave me pictures to give to Natasha and I never…” He screwed his eyes shut and felt his chest tighten again with an acute lack of air. “They’re still in my backpack…from Dijon…you can see the house.”

“Okay.” He felt Natasha’s hands cupping his jaw again. “We’re going back aboard in Genoa. Or someone is.” When Steve opened his eyes, Natasha pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips before letting him go. “Did you bring a wig, Maria?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a professional.” Agent Hill straightened her shoulders “I brought a _selection_ of wigs.”

“That’s my favorite multi-tasker!” Natasha declared, ruffling Agent Hill’s hair. “Shall we start going over the casino layout?”

Agent Hill smoothed her hair and nodded. “Digital or blueprints?”

Steve forced himself to forget about the pictures sitting in his bag in the closet of their cabin as he memorized four escape routes from the private gaming room they would be in that night.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, but the new semester just began and I've been looking for parking.

If Steve looked out the living room window of the apartment while angling himself just so, he could see the two spires that topped the casino. It was just a five minute walk from their staging area, but they would be taking the Aston Martin DB11 parked in the garage under the building to their meeting. If everything went according to Natasha’s disturbingly vague plan, they would grab the plutonium and use the car to flee the country, crossing the border into Italy (technically they would be crossing into France and then into Italy) before abandoning it and being picked up by Agent Hill for transport to Nick Fury’s safe house in Savona. Natasha had been spot on with her prediction that he would be somewhere nearby, considering the potential for an international incident.

There wasn’t an official site for handing over the plutonium, though Interpol and a group representing the UN were apparently the designated recipients. Fury had already determined that the exchange would be on his terms, which Steve agreed with only so far as he himself would be holding it until that time.

He paced from window through the living room and to the table, then back again. They were taking a break for lunch but he had wolfed down his sandwich in about thirty seconds (it had been roast beef…or turkey…with cheese…he knew he had definitely ingested some protein) in order to take up pacing, leaving Natasha and Agent Hill in the kitchen’s breakfast nook. Each time he arrived at the dining room table, he glanced at the blueprints and documents spread over it with the intention of looking them over again. Each time he just resumed pacing. This was a hell of a way to jump back into the world.

Of course, the first mission he’d run after coming out of the ice had been Loki and the Chitauri invasion, so…

He sighed and paced from the window back to the table. He pulled out a chair, but didn’t sit, instead tracing his finger over one of the escape routes out of the private gaming room. From his current spot, he could hear Natasha and Agent Hill (who he wasn’t entirely comfortable calling Maria) talking in the kitchen. He didn’t immediately move out of earshot, as they seemed to be discussing the mission.

“So what are you driving tonight?”

“Just a Range Rover.” Prior to walking through Monaco, Steve wouldn’t have accepted the phrase ‘just a Range Rover,’ but his worldview had shifted to encompass multiple Ferraris. Agent Hill continued, “Nothing fancy, just flat black. You’ll see it before you leave if you want the plates. I needed something to accommodate all the gear plus Steve’s shoulders. Too bad you’ll have to ditch the Aston.”

“Yeah, I hate to give up such a nice car.” Natasha paused. “No chance we can recover it, huh?”

“Not if you don’t want to be prosecuted in The Hague for possession of weapons grade nuclear material while also being an international fugitive. It could be worse. Oh, speaking of cars, I heard about Ross’ Corvettes. Did you at least save something good?”

“Honestly, Maria. That’s need to know.” Both women laughed while Steve felt torn between running back to the window and continuing to listen.

The latter won out as Agent Hill asked, “Not to totally change the subject but are you and Steve a thing now?”

“How is that interesting? You knew we had a thing a while ago.”

“Yeah, but you told me that was just a physical thing. This thing seems like a _thing_ thing.”

“Maria, seriously. Are you a twelve year old?”

“Hey, I’ve been super-professional around the two of you up to now. I never said a word to make Steve blush around Avengers HQ. The least you can do to make up for interrupting my life and calling me here to run your op is to give me some gossip, especially with Steve staring out the window at the obstructed casino view.”

“Yeah, like you have a life outside of intel.” Steve had another momentary twinge of guilt over eavesdropping, but it faded as Natasha asked, “How about this for gossip? Sam is interested. What are you going to do about it?”

“Don’t try to distract me, but we’re going to talk about that later. But you and Steve…?”

“Y’know, I didn’t force you to show up and…whatever.” There was an extended pause, punctuated by sipping and chewing sounds. “It’s not just physical anymore.”

“Then you two are in love?”

“Maria…shut up.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Agent Hill crowed. She followed up with an uncharacteristic sing-songing, “Natasha and Steve, sittin’ in a tree…”

“Okay, I’m downgrading you from twelve to, like, seven years old.”

“Whatever. You love Captain America and I get to mock you for it.”

“Why do you get to mock me? Besides, he’s not Captain America anymore. He doesn’t even have his shield.”

“Oh, right, like that was the only thing that made him Captain America.” He heard Natasha begin to protest, but Agent Hill immediately cut her off, “Steve is, like, the personification of _good_ , which may or may not be what the founding fathers intended, but…you know he’s amazing, right?”

“Of course I do. Kind of like how you know that Sam is amazing.”

“Stop trying to change the subject. You gave yourself his last name as an alias, Natasha Rogers. You love Steve, right?”

“Can you not with that?”

“Seriously?” In spite of Steve’s invisible interest, Agent Hill laughed. “When did we turn into Millennials?”

“Probably when we became meme-literate.”

“Sure, but still…” Agent Hill’s tone changed to a softer, more sincere timbre, “Are you really in love with him?”

“I’m _not_ talking about this.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he should interpret Natasha’s insistent denials as a reluctant affirmation or awkward refutation of her feelings for him. He stepped out of earshot and moved back toward the window. He felt like he was in a bases-loaded situation, looking for something off-speed from a fastball thrower. He didn’t even need a grand slam; he needed a single goal. The US wasn’t as enamored with baseball so much as football these days and the rest of the world was focused on an entirely different type of football, so even his internal sports metaphors were getting confused, probably because Natasha had gotten him to watch soccer regularly. He fondly remembered the match they’d attended at Camp Nou between Barcelona and Real Madrid; she had taken him back when the Avengers hadn’t been international fugitives. Had that been a date or just a fun occasion between friends?

He suddenly found himself back in the hallway near the kitchen of the temporary safe house, listening in further as Natasha asked, “You like the beard, right?”

“I guess. It’s…rugged?”

“Oh, come on. You can’t deny how good it looks on him. He’s like a muscular woodsman who’s going to wrestle a bear so he can wear its skin. So hot.”

“Only a Russian would associate bear hunting with sex appeal.” Steve had to agree with Agent Hill’s sarcastic comment, but he was gratified to hear his suspicions regarding Natasha’s feelings about his beard confirmed. If only he found her blonde hair as attractive as her natural red…

“Whatever. It’s amazing. Just imagine running your fingers through it…”

“Just admit you’re in love and save me the trouble.”

“How are you in any trouble? Other than being so far from the object of your desires…”

Agent Hill cut her off, “Are you done? With your lunch, I mean?”

“Yeah, we should probably get back to work. Besides, I probably won’t be able to fit in my dress if I eat any more.”

Steve practically ran back toward the window as chairs scraped against the floor, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping or getting too caught up in imagining Natasha’s dress. He parted the curtains again to take a look at the casino. He knew the very short route he would be driving to it by heart, plus three out of the city, with contingencies for the contingencies. He was tracing one particularly circuitous one in his mind when Natasha’s nails suddenly combed through his beard. He jumped away from her. “Nat!”

She raised an eyebrow at his reaction. “Everything all right?”

“Huh?” He pushed down the thought that she knew he’d been listening to her conversation. “Sorry, you just startled me. I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

“Pre-mission jitters?”

“Probably.” He leaned into her as she pulled him into a gentle embrace.

“Don’t worry. In a few hours we’ll have the plutonium and be outta here.”

“Then back to the ship. I can’t believe I left those photos…”

“Hey, don’t worry. I already set a program that will tell the computer we’re back aboard and then that we got off in Genoa. We can figure things out from there.” She turned, but not so far that his forehead lost contact where it was pressed against hers. “We’ve got a chauffeur.”

“Really? Who?” Agent Hill called over from her seat at the table. “Oh!”

“Did you just figure out I meant you?”

Agent Hill didn’t respond as she concentrated on the computer in front of her. Natasha’s easy manner shifted to businesslike as Steve followed her across the room. He asked, “What is it?”

“Van Rooyen just posted a buy-in price. It’s going to be € 100,000 just to get a seat. The North Koreans have already bowed out, along with two others.”

“Greedy prick.” Natasha nevertheless gave a sharp nod. “Fewer jerks to punch, but I think we’ll manage. Less competition to get the package, anyway.”

“I didn’t think we were going to buy anything. I thought we were just going to take it.”

“We still have to get in to confirm it’s what we want.” She gave him a scratch under his chin that left him feeling like a contented dog. He almost hoped the feeling would last.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve sat on the sofa in the main room of the safe house fiddling with the pocket square he’d tugged out of his tuxedo jacket as he waited for Natasha to finish getting ready, a process which was dragging into its second hour now. He had no idea what could be taking so long, especially considering he had managed to put some gel in his hair and get into his tux in less than ten minutes. He hadn’t even been allowed to see the hallowed dress yet, which had left him with the odd sensation that he was about to get married. It didn’t help that he couldn’t distract himself by going over the mission with Maria (he’d settled on them being on a first name basis when she’d taken pity on his fumbling and expertly tied his bowtie because Natasha had been too preoccupied curling her hair at the time) because she was currently in the other room helping Natasha put on the ‘finishing touches.’ He could only assume this meant strapping on knives that had to be concealed under the dress and lining her shoes with plastic explosives for emergency use.

He saw no reason he couldn’t help with that aside from the obvious potential for distraction if the dress really merited all the teasing Natasha had been doing. He swallowed thickly as his brain wandered to a few memories of things he’d seen her wear on missions or to events, along with a few other outfits she’d only ever worn in his imagination. Okay, maybe it _was_ a job for Maria.

He spread out the pocket square, which was really just a glorified small handkerchief, and shook it for hidden razor blades or secret computer chips, but nothing fell out. Holding it up to the light, he couldn’t see anything suspicious in the seams. He supposed it could be used as a breathing filter in a pinch. He pulled the piece of fabric through his fingers, noting its silken texture; it wasn’t as pleasant as running his hands through Natasha’s hair, but it was smooth enough. He briefly scratched his beard. How could Natasha find such coarse hair as appealing as she apparently did?

“Stop that.” The pocket square was suddenly snatched from his hands as Maria appeared in front of him. She quickly folded it and shoved it into his pocket. “And calm down. You have to look the part.”

When he glanced down only the edge of the square was visible, perfectly aligned with the seam of the pocket from what he could tell. “How did you do that?”

“Focus, Steve. Keeping things together is the whole reason I’m here.” She brushed her hands over his shoulders as he stood. “She’ll be ready in a second.”

He watched Maria’s hands with their neat, unpainted nails sweep imaginary lint off his lapels. “How is she not ready yet?”

She fixed an amused glare on him. “You two really need to start going on real dates.”

“I just…” his plea trailed off as the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor preceded Natasha’s appearance in the main room. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes swept down her body and back up again. To ensure that he was completely dead, she executed a neat twirl in spite of her very high heels. “Holy…”

“You like it?” she asked, almost like she didn’t already know that he absolutely did. He made a special effort to keep breathing as she crossed the room toward him in her sparkly silver gown that was clingy in some places and draped in others and didn’t cover nearly enough as it swept up to her neck, leaving her back bare. Her blonde tresses fell in soft curls, framing her face. She was suddenly standing in front of him, smirking at him with her red, red lips. “Well?”

“Nat…” He wanted to tell her that he always thought she was beautiful, that whether she was dressed to the nines or in her catsuit or wearing jeans and a t-shirt, he found her just as attractive, but… “God, that dress!”

“Glad we haven’t had to hit up an Oscar party,” she murmured, though she looked pleased by his reaction. “Think you’ll be back to normal by the time we get to the casino?”

He had to check his watch. The meeting wasn’t for another ninety minutes. “I…um…”

“Come with me,” she said, taking his hand. She shot a significant look at Maria, who turned to her computers as if everything was normal. Steve let out a soft moan as he was pulled into the bedroom at the end of the hall where Natasha had been dressing. “I started early so we could handle this.”

“Handle what?”

Her hand on the front of his trousers quickly answered his question. It had already disappeared through his fly when he gained the wherewithal to protest, “I’m wearing black!”

“Then drop your pants.”

He had no idea how she’d undone his belt so fast, but he was perfectly willing to push his pants down as she grasped him. He willingly sat on the perfectly made bed and shook out of his jacket with a grunt, no longer worried about staining his tux. He looked at her questioningly as she squirted a small amount of what looked like baby oil into her palm. She shrugged and grasped him gently as she spread it over his half-erect length, sitting carefully beside him. “Sorry, but I’m not getting undressed or redoing my makeup. Got a problem with an old fashioned?”

He groaned in reply as she stroked him firmly, using just her left hand. Her nails were painted red and he got a glimpse of them as her hand pumped up and down. His head gradually fell back and his jaw dropped open while she quietly worked, pulling him toward the edge with just her hand. He knew he was being a little noisier than he should, given they weren’t alone in the apartment, but he couldn’t keep it in as he moaned. He shied away from her slightly as he got closer, but he could feel her hand angling him away slightly so he wouldn’t spill on either of their clothes. He gave in to the pressure tightening in his lower belly and came with a half-cry, half-whimper. He realized he probably should have loosened his bowtie, as he could have used the extra air as he lay panting on the bed. “Oh, Nat…”

“Felt good, hmm?”

“Very good.” He turned his head to the side so he could watch her walk across the room, moving effortlessly in spite of her heels. She disappeared through a door she didn’t close, so he raised his voice slightly to say, “Yeah.” He let his mind drift through the blissful afterglow as he heard water running. They’d made love the previous night, but he’d put sex out of his mind when they’d arrived in Monaco. He definitely hadn’t been anticipating…

“You’ll be able to carry out the mission now?”

He sat up, again aware of the time and his surroundings. “You know that isn’t an issue. I’m ready no matter what.”

“Yeah, but now the edge is off.” Natasha finished drying her hands on a small towel before she handed it to him. “This way is better, right?”

“Not gonna complain.” He wiped the few pearly drops that hadn’t landed on the bedspread from the head of his nearly-flaccid dick along with the remaining baby oil. “But what about you?”

“It’s not like it’s a quid pro quo thing, but…talk to me once we get to Nick’s place, okay? Because I do like the way your beard tickles, especially in sensitive spots.”

He felt the blush rising through his cheeks, but finished cleaning up and stood to rearrange his clothes. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Speak French from here on out so you’re in the groove.”

“D’accord,” he replied easily. “Et Maria?”

“She’s fluent.”

He noted that ‘fluent’ was one of the few words that didn’t sound nicer in French than English. Of course, with Natasha saying it…

When he walked back to the living room, he was surprised to find most of the computer equipment packed up. Maria pointed to a large crate and said, in French, “Carry that down for me, please?”

“Sure.” He hefted the black box with little effort. “Shall we?”

Maria picked up some smaller bags. “Hopefully we won’t meet anyone in the elevator.”

“I’ve got tranquilizers,” Natasha said as she picked up two more bags of gear and led the way out of the apartment. Fortunately, they didn’t meet anyone on the way to the garage, where Steve slid the crate into the back of Maria’s Range Rover.

His breath suddenly caught in his throat when he turned and saw the car parked on the other side of it. He licked his lips as he looked at it. The lines were smooth and sleek without taking away from the power he knew was under the hood. Did this thing even have a front engine? He vaguely remembered Tony expounding on the superiority of high-end rear-engine vehicles, but Steve had no idea if that was related to engineering or cost. He just knew that he really, really liked the car sitting in front of him. It was a confusing feeling, being so affected by something so pedestrian as a car. Or not pedestrian, obviously, but…damn. Some of his reading had covered something about ‘muscle cars’ and he hadn’t really understood the fascination until now.

“Nice, huh?” Natasha bumped him with her shoulder as she walked past him toward the car.

“Yeah. Yeah! It’s…” he trailed off as his brain searched for an appropriate description and, for some reason, settled on, “Nice color.”

“It’s called ‘Diavolo Red.’” Maria shot him a smirk as she passed him. “I figured you both liked red.” She dropped something that looked like a cell phone into Natasha’s hand. “Current looks notwithstanding.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and tossed the phone at him. He caught it easily, turning it over in his hand. He realized it was the keyless key to the car. She raised an eyebrow when he looked up at her with excitement. “Don’t give me that face. You knew you were driving. Now, are you going to do the right thing for a lady or…”

He rushed to the car and opened the door, holding out his hand to help her in as she gathered up her skirt and sank into the tan leather passenger seat. He gently pushed the door closed with a smile. Before he could rush over to the driver’s side and find out how the engine sounded, Maria caught his arm. “Be careful.”

“I know. We will.” He tapped his ear where the micro-communicator she had given him was located. “We know you’ve got our backs.”

“Of course, but…just…get the plutonium and get out. There’s no new intel and I’m not one for bad feelings, but…”

“You’ve got a bad feeling and Nat didn’t listen?”

“Which means she’s probably got one too.” She glanced toward the car. “Just…be sharp, don’t take stupid risks and call it if it goes sideways.”

“I know I haven’t been on an op in a while, but I think we can handle it.”

“Yeah. See you on the other side.”

He was going to mention the odd encounter to Natasha, but he was distracted the moment he pushed the started and the engine roared to life. He found himself wishing they were staying much, much further from the casino as he pulled out of the underground garage with a squeal of tires.

“Easy, tiger,” Natasha murmured. “Save the moves for our escape, huh?”

Steve was unable to suppress a grin thinking about speeding out of the country with the package and her in the passenger seat. “Y’know, I think I can finally see the appeal of being James Bond…”


	14. Chapter 14

Steve wondered if Étienne Dubois, his alter-ego for the night, would lay on the horn as they were held up by a crowd outside the Hôtel de Paris in Casino Square, literally kitty-corner to their destination, but he decided to bite his tongue. Still, his knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. There were flashbulbs going off everywhere at the hotel entrance.

Natasha seemed unbothered, commenting, “Looks like paparazzi.” The photographers appeared focused on a woman coming out of the hotel. “Huh, I wish Maria had mentioned that Rihanna was in town. I didn’t think she was on tour right now. At least she’s getting into a car, so she’s not going to be at the casino. Maybe she’s an AS Monaco fan.”

He could imagine Maria, sitting at the dining room table in the apartment, rolling her eyes. Their communicators could transmit but not receive, so she could only hear their conversation without being able to respond with her own witty commentary. He shook his head as he realized he hadn’t really paired ‘Maria Hill’ with ‘witty commentary’ before today. It was probably better to stay focused. He squinted at the woman getting into the sedan with a winged ‘B’ badge in front of them. “Isn’t Rihanna a famous singer?”

“She is.” Natasha hummed a few bars of something familiar – he tried to place it and his brain dredged up a few lyrical options he associated with Rihanna: SOS please? Shut up and drive? Cheers to the freakin’ weekend? – as Natasha reached over to pat his thigh. “We don’t really need paparazzi taking pictures of us, but they may snap a few when they see us getting out of this thing, just in case we happen to be rich _and_ famous. When they do, don’t react. Just ignore them and escort me inside. Don’t think about the social media bullshit.”

He was surprised to find he wasn’t thinking about the potential for recognition at all. “It’s not a _thing_. It’s an Aston Martin DB11 in Diavolo Red,” he murmured under his breath as traffic finally began to move. It was strange that he was more worried about the car than the potential to be recognized. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten so emotionally attached to it in just a few minutes, but…there it was. He had never responded like this to Natasha’s Corvette, but she hadn’t ever let him drive it, either. Would that go for the one she’d ‘liberated’ from Secretary Ross’ garage, too, or would their new relationship include joint custody of vehicles? He was sure she and Maria would tease him about being a ‘typical man’ when they had to abandon the DB11 later on that night, but at least he’d gotten to drive it. And now he had something to aspire to. He wondered if he had the assets to just buy one of his own but then he glanced at Natasha and realized that the car wasn’t going to be the most attention-getting feature of their arrival. “Um…”

Her humming – Feels so good being bad? Come on rude boy? – trailed off. “What?”

“You…you honestly think the guys with cameras won’t notice _you_?”

“They’re moving.” She shot him a grin that told him she’d gotten his compliment, but she also pulled her hand back. “Rev the engine as you come up to the valet. Be entitled, but not outright rude.”

He sighed as the cars crawled forward around the square. They’d been over his role so many times he could describe it in his sleep, but there was a big difference between knowing he should behave like a jerk who expected first-class service and actually doing it. He gave the car a little more gas than he’d intended and nearly rear-ended the Mercedes sedan that had just cut them off. He practiced being ticked off at the driver in his head, but had trouble fighting down his instinct to take responsibility. It became a little easier to fall into the role a moment later when the Mercedes was unceremoniously waved ahead while three uniformed members of the casino valet service rushed to attend to them. It apparently took two of them to open the door on Natasha’s side of the car.

It was now or never. Without turning off the engine, Steve took a deep breath and threw the car door open with a carelessness he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of just a moment before. He jogged around the back of the car and claimed Natasha’s hand in the crook of his elbow, then used tu rather than vous as he haughtily commanded the valet, “Don’t scratch it.”

“Sir, we will have your car just here when you are ready.” The valet bowed obsequiously. “Right at the entrance, Sir.”

Steve passed a few bills to the man along with the key and he bowed even deeper. Steve could hear the photographers shouting as the mob rushed over, the flashes from their cameras temporarily blinding his peripheral vision as he and Natasha ascended the steps and passed through the central casino doors. The sound and bustle was suddenly replaced by soft music and the echo of footsteps across the marble entryway. He couldn’t help but notice that no one had checked any of their documents, as seemed to be the case with some other people trying to get in. Instead, a man in a white tuxedo jacket approached them. “Monsieur, Madame. Welcome to the Casino de Monte-Carlo. May I direct you?”

“Brignole.” Natasha offered a smile that didn’t reach her eyes along with her alias. “We have an appointment with Signore van Rooyen.”

“Ah, Marchesa Brignole!” The man bowed even more deeply than the valet had when Steve had tipped him. “Monsieur van Rooyen is expecting you. Walk this way.”

She gave Steve’s arm a subtle squeeze as they followed the concierge. She said, “I’m glad Signore van Rooyen has appraised the casino about his guests. Has everyone arrived already? I hope we aren’t too late.”

“Not at all, Madame. You are welcome to partake of all our amenities, including a credit line of € 500, 000 extended to all Royal Bank of Monaco preferred customers.”

“Preferred customers?”

“Oh, yes, Madame. Merely opening an account at the bank is hardly enough to earn such status…”

She gave a quiet laugh that could have meant agreement or derision and served to disrupt the concierge’s spiel.

For his part, Steve tuned out the conversation and tried to match his internal blueprints to the path they followed, but found himself distracted by chandeliers and frescoes as they passed through public gaming rooms and hallways before moving into the even plusher private areas. He was tempted to stop more than once to inspect a framed painting that appeared to be an original Rembrandt or Degas, but he continued walking at Natasha’s side, allowing her to guide him in spite of the fact that her arm was looped through his. They had perfected this particular skill while still working for SHIELD; it was always helpful in situations where he was supposed to lead but had no idea what he had gotten himself into. It was more effective while walking than it was while dancing.

The concierge stopped and bowed to them again as they arrived at a closed door guarded by two hulking men in dark suits that didn’t fit correctly over their massive shoulders. Steve made eye-contact with the larger of the two, refusing to look away as Natasha gave her name before they were allowed to enter the room. He immediately recognized Adem van Rooyen from the surveillance photos as the arms dealer approached them with a confident swagger, no doubt related to the down-payment he had received earlier that day. “Ah, the Marchesa Brignole.” He leaned down to kiss the hand Natasha extended. “Madame, I welcome you. Please, have some champagne.”

“Thank you.” She slipped her arm from Steve’s and accepted a champagne flute from a tray proffered awkwardly by another suited, neckless gladiator. Steve declined with a simple frown. The room they had entered was gaudily gilded on all its busy molding. He suspected a lot of stucco was involved, though the effect of wealth was dampened, in his opinion, by the sheer quantity of gold. He had spent enough time with Tony Stark to understand that they truly rich didn’t need to flaunt their wealth in such obvious ways. Steve wanted to make a joke about the room being worthy of a Russian Tsar, but Natasha had moved down the aisle between the high-backed upholstered chairs to chat with the very man they hadn’t arrested earlier today, Heinrich Mellinger. He had changed into a tux and he seized Natasha’s hand to press his lips to it the moment she approached to introduce herself. Steve couldn’t help clenching his fist when Mellinger leaned in to whisper something that made her laugh. At least it was a fake laugh.

Steve made a careful inspection of the room, confirming it was the same as what he had seen on the blueprints. He made a slow circuit around its perimeter, exchanging nods with men who appeared to be working security for some of the other attendees and making only brief eye contact with the potential buyers, as ordered. He would have preferred remaining at Natasha’s side, but he needed to play his part until they made their move. It was difficult enough for now to maintain his vigilance with another of the arms dealers had walking over to flirt with Natasha. Steve tried to remind himself that she was only responding positively because she was playing a character, but it still stung.

He took up a position along the wall with his arms folded. He was soon joined by a tall, beefy man with his long dark hair pulled into a ponytail. He gave Steve an appraising look before apparently dismissing him as a potential rival. Steve bit back a smile, remembering Natasha’s description of the job – gorilla. Stand around, look tough. He missed something the man grunted and asked, “Pardon me?”

The man jutted a hand at him without turning and repeated, “Boucher.”

“Dubois,” Steve replied, not flinching at Boucher’s crushing grip.

“Never seen you before.”

“Get glasses.” He hoped his response was adequately arrogant.

He was starting to worry that he wasn’t pulling it off when Boucher eventually chuckled. “Haven’t seen _her_ in a while.” He leered at Natasha for a moment. “She ditch the bald pirate?”

“She upgraded.” Steve adjusted his cufflinks to hide his discomfiture. Natasha hadn’t gone into whatever she and Fury had previous used her alias to do. It was something that had gotten both of them noticed by this guy, so Steve imagined it was fairly memorable. Rather than get too distracted by speculating, he half-demanded, “Who’s yours?”

Boucher inclined his head toward van Rooyen. “The boss.”

Great. This wasn’t a friendly goon-chat; it was a threat assessment. It was time to deploy his scripted piece.  “Hope this doesn’t take long.” He dug deep to prevent himself from gagging as he continued, “That dress will look a lot better on the floor.”

Boucher gave Natasha another leer. “Tell her to bid fast, then. 8 mill to open.” He pushed off the wall and lumbered away. Steve remained in his spot, invisibly fuming. Or he hoped it was invisible. True, Natasha had told him to feed one of the goons that line to establish that he was sleeping with her so none of them would get any ideas, but it felt so wrong to talk about her like she was just a piece of…ass. He swallowed hard. He was going to have to get her some flowers or something.

Van Rooyen suddenly clapped his hands. “Ladies and Gentlemen, as we are all present, I see no reason to delay the proceedings.” He walked up to the table at the front of the room as the buyers seated themselves in the three rows of chairs, Natasha taking the one closest to Steve’s position, though not looking at him. When everyone was settled, van Rooyen swept the cloth off the table, revealing a disappointingly small metal case, which he opened with another flourish to reveal a shiny silver ball slightly larger than a baseball. There was no reaction. After a moment, he laughed. “I know it doesn’t look impressive now, but just imagine the reaction when…well, when the nuclear reaction occurs!”

A nervous murmur went through the seated group and several of the hired security men actually stepped toward the door. Van Rooyen waved his hands. “I assure you the material is harmless in its current state. It makes a very nice retirement package, actually. I would like you to know that you are bidding tonight not only for the material, but for my contact list, which I shall no longer need after tonight. We will begin at…”

“You cannot sell what is priceless!” a new voice called from near the doorway. All heads snapped around to look at the man who had interrupted the auction. With a sinking feeling, Steve recognized the man all the intel placed in Amsterdam. Nikolai Yakushev strutted into the room, flanked by several guards of his own. He pointed to the case. “Bring that here, Adem.”

“I did not come here to play games,” Mellinger growled as he stood, bristling. “Bid like the rest of us if you want it.”

“I take the things I want.” Yakushev’s eyes swept the room, stopping at Natasha. “It seems I shall be taking an unexpected prize as well. But enough stalling.” He raised a radio to his mouth and said, “Activate.”

The rumble of underground explosions immediately preceded a complete loss of power. Before Steve could get his bearings, gunshots rang out in the dark room. There was a burning pain in his head and he couldn’t help falling to the floor as an even deeper darkness closed in around him.


	15. Chapter 15

Steve wasn’t sure how long he had been out or what was actually happening as he was gently slapped back to consciousness, just that whatever it was had really pissed off Natasha. He let out a groan as her hand hit his cheek again. “You awake? Good. Get up because I can’t carry you.”

He could hear moaning in the background and added his own, “Uhh…”

“Come on.” His arm was dragged across her shoulders and she seemed to do most of the work as she hefted him to his feet. He fought to keep his balance, staggering slightly as she pulled him along. Everything was dark, save for some small flashlights blinking through the blackness. Natasha ignored them all, bulling her way through the casino – were they still in the casino? – moving with an almost preternatural confidence. Steve wondered if he would be surer of where they were going if he hadn’t hit his head, but wondering just led to nausea. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other while Natasha provided the momentum.

They suddenly burst through a set of doors into the night. It was actually brighter outside than it had been inside with the headlights of cars illuminating the square. He was propelled toward a big black SUV standing just beyond the base of the stairs. Maria appeared to yank the back door open and shout, “In!”

He was suddenly on his back with Natasha on top of him, his legs folded awkwardly into the footwell. Car doors were slamming. Maria’s voice came from somewhere in front of them. “You got it?”

“Got it,” Natasha replied, shoving a case between the two front seats.

“Thank fucking God.” The SUV immediately lurched forward, mounted a curb and bounced over what hopefully weren’t multiple human bodies before swerving a few times and regaining a paved road. “Stay down back there and tell me what happened.”

“Yakushev showed up and the lights went out.”

“Power is out in most of the principality. The underground transformers were rigged to blow.”

“And Steve took a bullet graze to the head.” Natasha carefully touched the painful area on the side of his head. “Don’t think there’s a fracture, but he was out for a few minutes. He’s still a little out of it.”

He wanted to repay Natasha’s concern with a comforting embrace or declaration of love, but his tongue was tied. How had he forgotten that he’d been shot and not just hit his head?

“Nick will have medical support ready to go when we get there. It’ll be a little over two hours on the back roads, but we don’t want to get caught with the package.” The SUV felt like it went up on two wheels as Maria took a very sharp turn. “Anyone going to be following us?”

“Very doubtful. Is Nick online?”

A voice crackled over the radio, “I’m here, Romanoff. Good work on getting the package, but you wanna tell me what else just happened?”

Steve let himself relax beneath her as she began to talk…

* * *

Natasha had frozen for a moment when Yakushev entered the room with his dramatic speech. She and Maria had spoken briefly earlier in the day about the sketchy intel regarding his current location, but there had been nothing to indicate he was anywhere but Amsterdam. Even his yacht wasn’t in Monaco, but moored in Sanremo. That was less than an hour away by car, sure, but Interpol had positively pegged Yakushev leaving a club off the Damrak in Amsterdam just twelve hours before.

As if that meant anything, she reminded herself. Western Europe was like a slightly larger New England; you could get nearly anywhere you wanted in a few hours with barely any bother at the borders.

She dropped to the floor and closed her eyes as soon as the lights went out, intending to take a few seconds to let her night vision adapt before she moved, but her eyes snapped open when she heard Steve cry out after the first gunshots. She crawled toward him and didn’t get a response when she squeezed his hand. She began running her hands over his torso and neck before finding the wound on his head. He murmured in pain as her fingers traced over the wound on his scalp. There were no obvious indentations or fractures on his skull, so she hoped he was just reacting to a grazing impact. In spite of her urge to inspect his head more closely, she didn’t switch her cell phone on or turn on its flashlight. The bullets were finding the lights in the room, picking off the people stupid enough to reveal themselves like inexperienced snipers.

Steve still wasn’t responding with anything but soft grunts to pinching or sternal rubs. Shit. Maybe she’d been wrong with her initial assessment of a grazing injury. She got into his face, hissing, “Don’t you dare die on me, Steve. I haven’t even told you I love you. I haven’t told you how damn much I love you. Come on, you asshole, wake up…”

Her whispered monologue was interrupted by Yakushev’s faux-plaintive cry of, “Natalia, where are you? Why are you hiding from me, Natalia?”

Against her better instincts, she crept away from Steve. She passed the first unresponsive body she found and sought a pulse on the second. A quick fumble let her know this man was also already dead and her chest compressions were useless, but she had heard Yakushev command the lights-out, so it stood to reason that he and his men were equipped with night vision gear. He had recognized her before that, meaning that anyone linked to her was in danger, hence the useless CPR. She wasn’t particularly concerned with the blood currently gushing from her chosen prop’s mouth so much as she was with the rapidly diminishing number of cell phone flashlight beams arcing around the room. There were heavy footsteps and more gunshots as she cowered on the floor over the body of a stranger. Better Yakushev fill this guy with holes than hurt Steve.

A voice called out in Russian from the front of the room, “Parcel secure.” The sound of metal clasps clicking was louder than the moans of the wounded for just a moment. The plutonium had been secured by Yakushev’s minions. “Exit?”

Natasha instantly dodged toward the center aisle to block the main escape route, slipping out one of her concealed knives as she did so. The darkness caused her to misjudge the distance and she hit the man carrying the case as she leapt over a few downed bodies, but she took advantage of his surprise to bury her knife in his chest. She grabbed the handle of the surprisingly heavy briefcase as she pushed his flailing form away. He barely whimpered as he collapsed to the floor. She wiped her hand on her dress as she nearly stumbled over yet another body on the floor, attempting to find her way back to Steve. She had seen Yakushev come in with four other men; one was definitely down. If she could take down the rest…

Her head snapped backward as someone’s hand was fisted in her hair. She swung the case backward over her shoulder, connecting with something that felt like a skull with a sickening crunch. The grip on her hair released instantly. Two down. She felt something hard pressing into her back as she lowered the unconscious body to the floor and pulled a 9mm from the man’s belt. A sudden glow flared to her right as another moron switched on a cell phone. She was able to spot two more goons in the responding muzzle flashes. There were two thuds as they fell following her carefully aimed shots. Still holding her new weapon, she ducked back toward the central aisle to mask her own position after firing. Four. She had taken down four out of five targets, leaving only Yakushev himself.

She fired without thinking at a sound near where the last two men had fallen, the last place she had seen Yakushev at least a full sixty seconds before. The only reply was another soft thump, bracketed by the soft moans of the wounded behind her. She waited a few moments, but there was nothing else. Now she could get back to Steve. He needed her. He needed medical treatment. He needed to know she loved him. She dropped her emptied pistol and stepped across the aisle, making sure to stay quiet as she moved toward him. Just as she thought she was safe, someone grabbed her arm and yanked her backward. Yakushev whispered in her ear, “Oh, Natalia, you are a prize even more valuable to me than this plutonium.”

She jerked her hand away from the cold caress of his fingers, moving the case out of his grasp in the process. “Still forcing yourself on uninterested women, Nikolai?”

“Please, Nata. We are too familiar for such formalities.” He pulled her into his body, pinning her free arm against her hip as he clutched her waist. “It will be a true shame to cause the extinction of the last Black Widow.”

“You are even more foolish than I thought, Nikolai Yurievich,” she replied, twisting slightly against his iron grip. “Don’t force me to extend your sneer to the other side of your face.”

“Ah, so you do remember me! It is so nice to know you recall what you and Father’s other students did. I suppose I leave an impression.”

“Hardly.” She hissed as he dug his fingers into the inside of her elbow, compressing the nerves and vessels to provoke tingling in her hand. She still managed to retain her defiance. “I mostly remember the way you cried like a little child from the moment you were cut.”

He softly clicked his tongue. “So many nerves in the face and head. I took the opportunity to study Father’s methods and even developed some of my own. I have become quite the anatomist, thanks in part to you.”

“Do you expect me to be proud?”

“No. I suppose not. Perhaps you will still be impressed, though.”

He let go of her arm for a moment, but she hesitated to swing the case as she had before as the blood flow was restored in her lower arm. It proved to be too long when she felt a slight touch tracing down the side of her neck, realizing only after a moment that it was a blade slicing into her flesh. She writhed away, managing to slip out of his grasp and arc the heavy case toward him. She felt it connect with something solid, but there wasn’t the same give. Probably his shoulder. She used his momentary imbalance to strike out again, jamming the case into his abdomen to produce a satisfying ‘oof.’ Before she could land the finishing blow on his head, she felt a white hot pain in her right side. She gasped and held onto the case only with some effort as she stumbled backwards. She felt rather than saw the knife swipe out at her again; it missed only because she tripped over a body. Her head struck the thankfully rich carpeting, mitigating the impact.

There was no time to recover from her fall to the floor before he was on top of her, knife pressed against her shoulder. It bit into her and she had the sick feeling the only thing currently holding it back was her clavicle. Yakushev spoke directly into her face, “Obsidian, Natalia. Sharper even than the scalpel you used to disfigure me. I used this very knife when vivisected Father. When I removed Svetlana Alexyevna’s skin in little strips while she begged for mercy. When I cut out Kunishev’s eyes. And now I will use it to…”

“Shut up,” she cut him off just before smashing the case into his head from the wide angle she had managed to sneak into while he was busy with his monologue. Maybe it really was a James Bond kind of mission. Yakushev collapsed on top of her as dead weight, unconscious. She struggled out from under him with some effort given her wounds. Feeling around for the knife he had dropped, she nicked her fingers on the blade. “Fucking…” She managed to grasp the handle and shoved it into the back of his neck to the hilt, right at the base of his skull. Yakushev twitched for a moment, then stilled. There was no accompanying satisfaction in the act. Natasha didn’t dwell on it, moving gingerly toward where she had left Steve.

His breathing was even but he was still out of it. There was no way she could carry him out of the casino even without the added burden of the plutonium, which she didn’t have the option of leaving. She could still hear moaning in the room from the auction attendees who had survived now overlaid by frantic pounding on the doors. Casino security had apparently secured the cash and was now getting around to the guests. She patted Steve’s cheeks, trying to rouse him. His eyes managed to catch the invisible light in the room, flashing blue at her as they fluttered open.

* * *

“…so I dragged him out and Maria was there and…we got the plutonium, Nick. That’s what counts,” Natasha finished, letting her head drop onto Steve’s chest. He nuzzled into her hair. He was still fuzzy from the hit he’d taken and hadn’t followed the narrative as closely as he probably should have.

“Mmm hm.” Fury seemed to think it wasn’t quite so cut and dried. “Lot of casualties. Monegasque police are already on the wire calling in help. There’s gonna be some serious investigations.”

“We’ve already crossed into Italy, sir,” Maria piped up from the driver’s seat.

“Which doesn’t mean jack of one of you bleeds to death! I didn’t pack a surgeon for this operation.”

Steve was about to protest that he wasn’t badly hurt when he felt a warm dampness soaking through his shirt over his stomach, though there was no pain. His mind slogged through the events Natasha had just reviewed, trying to remember hearing about another wound he’d sustained. He slowly ran his fingers around the area and discovered the source of the blood. His eyes widened as his hand settled over Natasha’s side. “You’re bleeding. A lot.”

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

Steve applied pressure and hoped she was right as Maria gunned the engine and accelerated toward Fury’s safe house.


	16. Chapter 16

Steve was doing his best not to panic as the pain and disorientation from his bullet graze receded and his thought processes grew clearer. Once he’d realized that Natasha was bleeding, he had struggled out of his tuxedo jacket followed by his shirt, which he’d hastily torn up to serve as makeshift bandages to keep pressure on her wounds in the backseat of the Range Rover while Maria continued to drive around in the dark Italian hills. He found it was easiest to wrap his arms around Natasha while keeping one piece of his white shirt pressed against her side and the other covering her neck and shoulder. Unfortunately, he could feel her warm blood seeping between his fingers through the cloth. Her breathing was also starting to become labored. He craned his neck to try to look out the window, but caught only a glimpse of a solid mass of darkness punctuated by faraway glimmers of light. “Aren’t we there yet?”

“Do you honestly think Fury would have a safe house that was easy to access from the roads? The tunnel exit is one way, one use and only for emergencies!” Maria spat back over her shoulder before hooking around a corner at high speed. She was less harsh on the straightaway between switchbacks a moment later. “How is she doing?”

“ _She_ is doing fine, thanks,” Natasha replied, though she didn’t pick up her head from Steve’s chest to deliver that bit of snark. She confirmed that it was at least as bad as he suspected when she asked, “Seriously, though, are we close?”

“Top of the next hill. Ten minutes or less.”

Steve was about to demand more speed, but Maria nearly flipped the SUV on the next turn as it was. He held Natasha a little tighter and whispered, “You’ll be okay, Nat. It’ll be fine.”

“Big talk for a guy who got shot in the head.”

“It wasn’t that bad. Just a little nick.”

“You were unconscious for all the action.” She nuzzled weakly into his neck. “I’d accuse you of letting me do all the hard work if I didn’t know you so well.”

“Nat, I’m sorry I…”

“Don’t apologize. We got the plutonium and Yakushev is dead.” Her breathing suddenly evened out and he thought she’d dropped off until she added, “I’m sorry I called you an asshole.”

“What?” He clutched her against him as they turned another corner. “When was that?”

“While you were unconscious. I was mad and I called you an asshole.”

“Oh. Well…”

“And I told you I love you.”

The world seemed to stop for a moment in spite of the fact that they were still speeding around in the back of an SUV on curving, bumpy mountain roads. “What?”

“I love you, Steve. Don’t you dare die on me.”

“I’m not the one…” He suddenly realized that she wasn’t concerned about him so much as she was going into shock. “Oh, Nat, don’t do that. I love you. I love you and you gotta stay with me.”

“Hold on!” Maria suddenly cried, pivoting the car around yet another turn at breakneck speed. “Sorry, that one came up faster than I expected! We’re on the last ascent, though.”

“Good,” Steve shouted. The fact that Maria was listening to every word they said didn’t temper his need to talk to Natasha. He pressed his lips to her forehead, which was disturbingly warm and sweaty. “Nat?”

She moaned softly in response. His patience expired with that terrible sound. He wasn’t going to lose her. He couldn’t. She loved him and he loved her. They were going to be together. Nothing else mattered.

The next few minutes passed in a blur as Maria pulled up outside a large hilltop villa in a screech of brakes and a cloud of dust. Steve’s head flopped backward as Fury yanked the door open to help them out of the SUV. Maria took over holding the makeshift bandages in place as Steve lifted Natasha into his arms. She didn’t react to the motion or Fury’s rough greeting, “’bout time.”

“Sir?” Maria prompted.

Fury reached through the front door of the SUV to grab the case before leading them through the wide open doorway of the well-lit foyer, up a staircase and down a hallway to a bedroom equipped with an ICU’s worth of medical devices. Steve gently placed Natasha on the clean white linens of the king-size bed then stood to one side as Maria pressed her thumb against Natasha’s inner elbow while holding a needle in her other hand. It shook perceptibly as Fury demanded, “Hill, can you start an IV or can’t you?”

“I…okay.” Steve flinched as Maria plunged the needle through Natasha’s skin. After a moment, she sighed with relief. “It’s in. I got it.” She hooked a bag of clear liquid to the tubing. “Did you bring blood?”

“In the cooler,” Fury replied calmly, pointing to a white box across the room. Maria went about treating Natasha as Fury guided Steve toward the door, continuing, “Don’t try to do too much. Just keep everything under control until the cavalry arrives.”

Steve tried to press back toward Natasha as Fury shut the door, but found he was still feeling a little light-headed from his injury. The world blurred for a moment. Rather than fighting, he let Fury guide him away, asking, “Who’s the cavalry?”

“I got a medical professional en route. In the meantime, don’t worry about Romanoff. She’s like a cockroach; can’t kill her.”

“Sorry if I don’t take that particular metaphor to heart.”

Fury chuckled but led him into a comfortable den-like room and closed the door. He positioned himself behind a large wooden desk, on which he set the silver case containing the plutonium. Steve was in no mood to give a report, but he sank into a comfortable leather chair that Fury indicated with a careless wave. “Say your piece, Rogers.”

“I…” Steve found that he was intimidated as ever when confronting Nick Fury alone. In spite of his pain and exhaustion, he tried to sit up straight and puff out his chest anyway. “I need to know that Natasha is going to be okay. And I need to know that no one will be compromised by the pictures I left on the cruise ship.”

“Shouldn’t’ve left any evidence.” Fury shook his head. “But I guess you can’t be expected to tie up _all_ the loose ends without adequate support.”

“Don’t suppose you heard I took a bullet to the head, sir…”

“Luckily for everyone,” Fury continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “I had contingencies in place for a quick evac from Dijon. If you and Hill can’t get back to the ship in Genoa to finish the cleanup, our people will be long gone and settled on a whole new continent before anyone even figures out where they were.”

Steve blinked slowly. He hadn’t realized anyone knew about the safe house (or neighboring houses, as it were), though he was less concerned knowing that Fury was managing the intel; Barton had managed to keep Laura and the kids hidden for years with Fury’s help, after all. He tried to remember what they were discussing. Cruise ship. Pictures. “And if we do get the pictures?”

“You can all go back to the quiet life in France, pretending I’m not handling your business.”

“Exactly how long have you had eyes on us, sir?”

“You think Romanoff’s sources are only feeding information to her? There’s a reason they call them intelligence networks. I knew she would go after van Rooyen’s merchandise, especially when I heard Yakushev might be involved. She’s been after his psycho ass for a while.”

“Is that why you didn’t alert anyone else?”

“Official agencies are occasionally hogtied by regulations and red tape.” Fury drummed his fingers on the case. “Better that you two went in on this than Interpol. Job got done. Collateral damage was restricted to people who deserve it.”

“What about the Monaco power grid?”

“They can afford to fix it. Nobody’s gonna suffer for _that_.”

It was too much to argue with the pounding in his head. To his infinite surprise, Steve was dismissed not long afterward. He made his way back to the room where Maria was finishing up bandaging Natasha, who was now wearing a loose pair of pajama pants and a tank top rather than her torn and bloodied dress. She was also hooked to some kind of monitor and a bag of dark red liquid. Maria nodded to him as she mopped Natasha’s forehead with a cloth, “I just hooked up a blood transfusion and cleaned her up as best I could. I also gave her a painkiller, so she’ll probably be out for a while.”

“Thank you.”

“We should probably take care of you.”

He pushed away the hand she extended toward his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“At least let me clean it up a little.” She snapped on a pair of purple gloves. “Come on, you know she’ll be pissed at one or both of us if she wakes up and sees you haven’t been treated.”

Steve had to smile at Maria’s characterization of Natasha. “She probably would be. Alright, I guess we should wash it up at least.”

He was leaning over the sink in the attached bathroom a few minutes later as Maria washed the last of the dried flakes of blood from his hair when he heard familiar voices in the hallway. He looked up just in time to be very surprised by the woman who appeared in the bedroom doorway behind Fury, who smirked. “Cavalry’s here.”

Steve wondered if his head trauma was more serious than he’d thought. “Laura?”

“Hey, Steve.” Laura Barton didn’t waste any time, immediately crossing the room to the open bathroom and pushing him gently away so she could wash her hands. “What’s going on?”

“I…”

He realized that Laura wasn’t talking about him when Maria cut him off, “She has some deep lacerations to her left shoulder and neck, but I don’t think any vessels are involved. The one on her right side, though…I bandaged it with QuikClot and started a saline drip and transfused a unit of O neg.”

“How long ago?”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Bag’s already half-empty.” Laura snapped a pair of gloves on. “Has her BP been steady?”

“The top number has been dropping.”

“She’s still bleeding. Maria, can you glove up and help me?” The other woman immediately moved to the sink and Laura turned to him. “Okay, Steve, I need you to pick her up with the injured side facing down.”

“Um…”

“I don’t see any suctioning device in here so we’re going to use gravity to drain the blood in her abdominal cavity and clear the field a little so I can see what needs to be done.”

He was kneeling on the bed, balancing Natasha’s limp body against his chest in his arms while Laura clipped through the bandages Maria had applied when he thought to ask, “How do you know how to do all this?”

“She’s a nurse practitioner,” Clint supplied. Steve nearly dropped Natasha but managed to just snap his head around to see that Hawkeye had, in fact, replaced Fury in the doorway. “What, you thought she was just a happy homemaker?”

“My French isn’t strong enough to take the licensing exam in Dijon,” Laura added, still carefully removing gauze from the wound on Natasha’s side. “Fury used to just send Clint home with non-life threatening injuries rather than inflicting him on the SHIELD medical staff.”

“It was never anything _that_ bad. Is there anything I can do?”

“Poke around and find out what kind of sutures are here.”

“’Kay.” Clint shuffled through something that resembled a large box for fishing tackle. “Fury’s down in the kitchen making the kids pancakes. Nat gonna be okay?”

“I think she has a lacerated liver.”

“Aw, she’s gonna have to go without her favorite medicine while she gets better. Can’t wait to drink vodka in front of her.” In spite of Clint’s banter, Steve could see the tense concern on his face. “Uh, are sutures in little rectangles?”

“Yeah, what…” Laura sucked in a breath as she removed the last layer of gauze; Steve could feel warm liquid spilling down his stomach and onto his pants. He tried not to think about it. Laura quickly schooled her features back to calm. “What kind of sutures are there?”

“Silk, poly…polygamy…poly-something, um…”

“Good. Maria, get a basin, sterile saline and a lavage syringe.”

Steve fought down panic over the next minute or two as Laura irrigated Natasha’s wound, instructing him to tilt her body to best drain the blood and water into the large basin Maria was holding. His arms were shaking noticeably when Laura finally said, “Okay, the liver damage isn’t bad. She’s going to heal without surgery. Clint, see if you can find something with thrombin in it.”

“Uh…”

“Look for a small box or a little plastic syringe called Surgiflo or Floseal. It should say clotting agent. You can put her down, Steve.”

He found he didn’t particularly want to break contact with Natasha, but he could accept that it was necessary for her to be treated. He still only managed to do it after a gently guiding touch from Laura. “She…she’ll be okay, right?”

“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she is. Why don’t you go clean up and change while I suture her.”

Clint grabbed his shoulders and steered him out of the room a moment later, delivering him into Sam’s awaiting attentions. “Man, are you all right? What happened to your head? Where’s all that blood from.”

“It’s Nat’s. I’m… Sam…is _everybody_ here?”

“Just drove in from Dijon,” Sam confirmed. “Seven hours with only one fifteen minute break. I thought Scott and Cooper were gonna explode.”

Clint’s head popped into the hallway. “Hey, Sam, Maria wants you to wrap up Cap’s head.”

“No problem.” He accepted a roll of gauze from Clint, who closed the door behind him. Sam lowered his voice, “Dude, Sharon Carter showed up at the house with a van and told us to come with her if we wanted to live and we heard someone bombed Monaco on the radio and Fury said something about nukes…”

“Sam,” Steve interrupted. He suddenly felt very tired. He just wanted to change and lie down to sleep, preferably beside Natasha, or at least in the same room. “I need pants.”

Sam picked up a duffle bag from the hall floor. “Sure. I brought you some stuff. How’d you get that cut on your head?”

“Gunshot. Just a graze.” It took Steve about ten minutes to wash up and pull on some of his own clothes. It wasn’t until he was sitting on the side of another bed while Sam wrapped gauze around his head that something pricked at his thoughts. “Did you say something about Sharon Carter?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, kind readers. I've been away then sick.

Ignoring Sam’s suggestion that they go downstairs and get something to eat, Steve returned to the improvised hospital room the moment his head was fully bandaged. He lasted for less than two minutes at Natasha’s bedside before Clint escorted him out at Laura’s gentle suggestion and Maria’s forceful one; he had been hovering too much and blocking Laura’s light as she neatly sutured the wound on Natasha’s shoulder. Sam, waiting in the hallway, shook his head knowingly. “Told you we should have just gone to the kitchen.”

“I couldn’t just…”

“I know.” He shrugged and threw his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “It’s hard to see someone you love hurting.”

“She’s still unconscious, but…yeah.” Steve blew out a long breath. “I don’t remember telling you I love her.”

“You were out the door the moment you caught a sniff of her, dude.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t abandon us, so don’t even think it,” Sam cut him off, once again proving he was on the same page as Steve. “We can handle our own business. Besides, I’m a little jealous you got to get back in the world-saving business without me.”

“Plus we hung out all day with Maria.”

“Yeah, well…” Sam ducked his head slightly to hide a small grin as they entered the kitchen.

Before Steve could tell Sam about Maria’s reciprocated interest, Lila Barton was wrapped around his midsection. “Steve! I was worried about you when Mommy said something about working when we got here!”

“I’m okay, Lila.” He leaned down to pick her up and returned her hug. “It’s just a cut on my head.”

She looked at him with concern in her big brown eyes. “Then Auntie Nat is hurt bad?”

“Auntie Nat doesn’t _get_ hurt bad,” Cooper replied from his seat at the long kitchen island, a plate of pancakes nearly finished in front of him. “She’s even more indestructible than Dad. Remember that time he ran her over with the tractor and she jumped right up and punched him because she was mad she got mud in her hair?”

“Even Daddy needs stitches sometimes!” Lila shouted back, squirming in Steve’s arms until he set her down to go slap at her brother.

“Typical,” Fury grunted, flipping a fresh batch of pancakes on a wide griddle; Steve couldn’t be sure if he was characterizing the Barton kids’ squabbling or the weird anecdote about Clint, Natasha and the tractor. Steve decided it probably didn’t matter as he looked over the people gathered in the warm room. Scott was sitting beside Cooper, eyeing the fresh batch of pancakes hungrily. Wanda was on his other side, Nathaniel sleeping in her lap. Steve was glad to see everyone safe, even if it wasn’t in the best circumstances. His temporary relief was replaced by a new anxiety when he saw Sharon Carter sitting on a tall stool to Wanda’s left. He hadn’t seen Sharon since kissing her outside Berlin months ago. The moment had been etched into his mind as an act of temporary insanity; he had a million excuses for it – he had felt betrayed by Natasha’s choice about the Accords, adrift in a world that no longer wanted him, lost in the wake of Peggy’s death. He felt a flush of shame rise in his cheeks at the memory of Natasha coming to him in the church after the funeral…

The Barton kids were still arguing, giving him a moment to collect himself. He managed to find his voice after a moment. “Sorry you guys had to come all the way here.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Scott waved him off. “It’s a nice change.”

Wanda was looking at him carefully. “Natasha is not seriously hurt?”

“Laura says she’ll be okay.”

“Good.” She turned her attention back to Nathaniel as he started stirring, cooing a Sokovian lullaby she often sang him.

Steve swallowed hard and forced himself to smile as he looked toward the seat beside Wanda. “Sharon. Hi.”

“Hey, Steve.” Sharon sipped from a coffee mug, looking casual and content for all the world. “Successful op, I heard.”

“Yeah. We, um…we got what we needed to.”

Fury chuckled. “Try to be a little less flashy with Carter tomorrow.”

“Uh…” Steve’s brain short-circuited for a moment. He tried to articulate the plan for the next day, “Tomorrow I’m going back to the ship with Maria to…”

“You’re going with Carter now,” Fury interrupted. “She’s a natural blonde and I need Hill here to arrange the meet to turn over the plutonium.” He deposited several pancakes on the plate Scott eagerly extended. “Someone from the IAEA has to be there in addition to Interpol plus French and US agents with supervisors from the UN and EU. Damn logistical nightmare.”

“I…” Steve’s stomach tightened up. There was a big difference between conducting an operation with Maria, who he’d only ever viewed as a colleague, and conducting one with a woman he’d viewed as a potential romantic interest. “But Maria and I already…”

“I’ve got a clean car in the garage for you to drive to Genoa and back. GPS is already programmed. Brief Carter on the situation you’ll find onboard.” Fury gestured toward a door across the room with his spatula. “You can have flapjacks when you’re done.”

In spite of a pat on the back from Sam, Steve walked stiffly across the room while Sharon poured herself a refill from the coffee machine on the kitchen counter. He wished he’d gotten a beverage when he arrived in the dining room, as he had nothing to do with his hands. He tried gripping the back of one of the chairs, but dropped his hands when he realized how aggressive the position looked. He was caught between crossing his arms and allowing them to rest at his sides when Sharon walked into the room. “Hi. Hey. Uh, hi.”

“Hi, Steve,” she replied, smiling. “Guess we’re going to be working together.”

“Yeah. That’s…it’s good.” Work he could handle. He launched into everything he could think of regarding the ship, “So we, or Natasha and I, I guess, are in room 7306. I think Maria still has the keycards that get us on the ship and into the room and pay for things, not that we’re going to be there long enough to buy drinks or anything. We might see Dorrie and Tom or Ann, but I think they’re okay with the whole spy thing so you can just…of course, they only met Nat so I don’t know if they’ll react to you differently, but they might, so I should get you some pictures of them in case you need to know who to avoid or who you should know or…”

“Hey, slow down.”

He pulled his arm away from her touch. “Look, Sharon, I…”

“Relax, Steve. We just have to go aboard, get the pictures from your room, maybe clean up a little. It’ll be easy. Why are you so tense? Is Agent Romanoff hurt more seriously than Fury said?”

“No, she’s going to be okay. I mean, Laura and Maria are taking care of her, so…she’ll be okay.” He tried to forget about his concern for Natasha, unconscious upstairs. He just needed to clear the air with Sharon and get it over with, especially if they were going to be working together. “I just… You and I…we… The last time I saw you…” He vaguely gestured toward his lips. “Y’know…”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” She laughed, a rich, happy sound. “Yes, we kissed. I do remember that, but are you kidding me? It was _one_ kiss. And it was months ago. It’s not a big deal.”

“I don’t want to…you don’t care?”

“Steve, it was just a kiss. Did you think it meant something?”

In spite of his confidence that he wasn’t interested in being with anyone other than Natasha, he was hurt and oddly disappointed. “Oh.”

“Don’t give me that look.” Sharon reached out and patted his forearm, but didn’t prolong the contact. “I mean, of course it meant something, but…was it important? We haven’t exactly stayed in touch. I thought it was just a spur of the moment thing brought on by stress and the situation. Sure, it might have been nice if we’d managed to hook up or something, but I’m not expecting anything from you.” She was still smiling and it suddenly took on a more knowing quality. “Besides, from what Clint and Sam said on the ride here, you prefer redheads. Or just one particular redhead, I guess.”

“Well, she’s blonde at the moment but…” He exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m not well-versed in the romance department. I just don’t want things to be weird.”

“Steve, you’re a hundred-year-old super soldier. Weird is part of the package. But I think we’re okay for tomorrow.” She smiled and took a seat at the table. “Tell me about these people we might meet onboard.”

He returned her grin and remembered why he’d thought kissing her could have been a good idea, even if he wasn’t planning to do it ever again. The awkwardness cleared further as he described Dorrie and her family, and Kevin and his wife.

They had concluded the impromptu briefing and moved on to talking about what Sharon had been up to since leaving the CIA and joining Fury’s new secret operation when Steve overheard Clint in the kitchen telling the kids they could say hi to Auntie Nat if they stayed quiet and kept it quick. Steve forgot all about Sharon and bolted for the stairs.

“Hey, Cap, whoa there.” Clint caught his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “You’ve had Nat the past few days. Give the goobers a minute with her.”

“Only Lila’s a goober!” Cooper called over his shoulder as he disappeared upstairs in his little sister’s wake.

Steve found he was still being held back when he tried to follow. “Clint, let me go.”

“She’s gonna be fine, but Laura wants to give her some more painkillers so she can stop pretending it doesn’t hurt and those’ll put her out for a while. You’re being assigned the bedside watch duties, which really means you just get to sleep in the room with Nat, okay?”

“I just…”

Fury suddenly appeared beside Clint to add, “Once you and Carter get back tomorrow, we’re all going to sit down and have a serious conversation about where we go from here. You’re free to go back to Dijon and twiddle your thumbs, but I think you’re all gettin’ bored sitting on the sidelines. Damn waste of resources if you ask me.”

“Sir? Has there been a development on the Accords?” Clint’s eyes lit up. “I mean, if I can start trusting Stark not to narc on my farm…”

“One step at a time. Don’t get the kids all worked up about it until I’ve talked to some people during the plutonium turnover.” Fury walked back into the kitchen, saying, “And tell ‘em you can bring the dog and cats home, but I am not negotiating international passage for that jackass you’ve got.”

Clint was shaking his head with a wry grin on his face. Before Steve could ask how Fury possibly knew about the Barton’s pet donkey, he said, “Shows what he knows. Mildred’s a jenny, not a jack!” He finally let go of Steve’s arm and went into the kitchen to get Nathaniel.

Now free, Steve ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He barely noticed Sam and Maria talking in the hallway outside Natasha’s room, pushing through the door. Cooper was sitting on the side of the bed, excitedly telling Natasha about the room she could stay in at their house in Dijon while Lila snuggled against her side. Steve caught Natasha’s eye and she winked at him. A lump rose in his throat as he watched her being Auntie Nat, one of the most authentic roles he’d ever seen her occupy. He could still vividly remember Lila’s excitement the first time the Avengers had visited the Barton farm, running to be lifted into Natasha’s arms. The memory also called up the unwelcome thought of her relationship with Banner, something Steve didn’t particularly want to consider.

He was spared from his racing thoughts when Laura pulled him toward the en suite bathroom. She spoke just above a whisper, “Hey, she’s all stitched up and there’s no more bleeding as far as I can tell. She’s telling me she doesn’t want any morphine, but I think she could really use it. I set up a pump she can operate herself. Could you talk to her? Let her know you’re going to be with her while she’s out? She might actually use it if she knows you’ll be here.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I think she’ll let you take care of her. That’s a big deal, Steve.”

“I love her.”

Laura nodded seriously. “Okay. As long as you understand.”

She didn’t give him much chance to reply as she immediately collected the kids, who only agreed to go to bed upon learning that Auntie Nat would still be there in the morning. She herded them out the door, leaving Steve alone with Natasha. She smiled and crooked a finger at him. “C’mere, soldier.”

He eagerly climbed across the big bed to her side, though he hesitated to hold her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Help me lie down?”

“Sure.” He tried to ignore her involuntary wince as he helped her scoot down from the sitting position she’d been in with the kids. “You…you gave me quite a scare.”

“Then we’re even. You got shot in the head.”

“That’s…fair.” He didn’t want to think about her completing the entire objective while he was passed out on the floor. He knew there were casualties. Remembering what Laura had told him, he suggested, “Maybe you could take something. I don’t like that you’re hurting.”

“S’not so bad.” She lifted her right arm to show him a cylinder with a cord coming from the end. “Pressed the button when the kids left. Saw you there. Here. M’glad you’re here.”

“Nowhere I’d rather be.” He carefully slipped under the covers and moved close enough to slide his arm low across her hips so he could hold her. “Is this okay?”

“Mmm. I love you. And someday…I’m gonna tell you I love you.” Her eyelids fluttered shut as the drugs took further hold. “G’night, Steve.”

“I love you, too, Nat.” He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. He settled in beside her for the night, not looking forward to leaving her behind in the morning.  

 


	18. Chapter 18

Steve wasn’t eager to respond to Sam shaking him awake, but he managed to roll over without getting his arm tangled in any of the tubes taped to Natasha’s arms. At least she was finished with blood transfusions, now connected only to clear lines delivering saline and painkillers. She had slept soundly, most likely an effect of the drugs, though he liked to think it was related to the fact that she knew he was there with her. He vaguely remembered Laura checking in at least twice over the course of the night, but he hadn’t been awoken at any point by a change in the soft, steady sound of the machines monitoring Natasha’s vital signs.

It was probably best to let her sleep, so he pushed Sam away with the quiet admonition, “Okay, I’m awake! Since when are you up at the crack of dawn?”

“Since I joined the service.” To his credit, Sam did keep his voice low. “You should know by now just because I don’t run as far doesn’t mean I get up any later than you. ‘Sides, Maria’s an early riser.”

“No surprise there.” Steve rolled his shoulders as he sat up, testing his muscles to make sure the stiffness from the previous night’s ride scrunched in the back seat had dissipated. It wasn’t until he was stretching his arms over his head that he realized what Sam had said. “Wait, you spent the night with Maria?”

“Don’t even. We slept downstairs in the living room having a slumber party with Wanda, Scott and Sharon, so nothing happened. She just figured you’d be least likely to smack me for waking you up before the sun, so here I am.” He suddenly tipped his head and looked past Steve. “Hey, Nat. Been awhile.”

“Good to see you, Sam.” Steve turned to see Natasha blinking at him, her green eyes squinting in the lamplight. “Have you been up all night with me? I think I’ve been drugged.”

“Yeah, you took them yourself. Laura gave you a button so you could decide if you wanted painkillers.” He leaned over to press a kiss to her lips. “How do you feel?”

“Not terrible. Nobody shot me, so…” She rolled her eyes, a better indication that she was really feeling better than anything else. “Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine. Probably mostly healed by now.” He reluctantly pulled away from her side before she could touch the bandage wrapped around his head. “I have to get up and head to the ship, but you’ll have mostly everyone here with you today.”

“Okay, as long as I didn’t hallucinate Laura and the kids last night.” She grasped his t-shirt and pulled him in. “Back later?”

“Yeah.” He let the kiss linger a moment before leaning back with a sigh. “It’s a about an hour drive, then Sharon and I should just be aboard for ninety minutes at the absolute most, then an hour back.”

Natasha nodded. “Good. If it was just one of you, I’d say you could be on and off in five minutes to grab a camera or something, but it’s less suspicious if you both get on then get back off after lunch.”

“Considering you won’t ever be getting back _on_ after that,” Sam muttered, “I think that ship has sailed.”

Steve groaned; Natasha booed.

“Seriously, though,” Sam continued, “what was the original plan before you got another blonde to step in?”

“The _original_ plan was not to get stabbed and spend the rest of the trip aboard the ship, having lots of amazing sex.”

Sam just nodded, not taking Natasha’s bait, though Steve could feel his face reddening. “And the plutonium? You were just gonna take it back to the ship with you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was thinking we could drop it with the Monegasque police with a clear understanding that I would be back in a _very_ bad mood if they didn’t immediately deliver it to the proper authorities. Then when Maria got involved, I knew she’d have a plan because…well, she’s Maria.”

“Mm hmm.” Sam didn’t sound convinced, but Steve thought he’d be hard pressed to argue that things hadn’t actually worked out. “And why can’t Steve just do that five minute forgot something routine?”

“Because Steve got hurt yesterday too and he shouldn’t have to go in without backup anyway.”

Although Steve didn’t like being reminded about his injury, it did seem to strike the right chord with Sam, who nodded. “So are you comin’ back to Dijon with us, then?”

“Nothing’s been decided yet,” she replied, though she did flash Steve a _look_. He wasn’t sure how to interpret it, even if did come off as highly significant; it was strange, because he hadn’t even mentioned Fury’s cryptic comments of the previous night. “Let’s just get Steve through today so Dijon is still a possibility.”

Sam looked as if he was about to say something else, but Laura chose that moment to make her appearance. “Morning, everyone! How do you feel, Nat?”

“I’m okay. Check on Steve first. He needs to get going soon.”

“Not a problem.” Laura still checked Natasha over quickly before going to work unrolling the gauze around his head. Once his wound was uncovered, she probed around it with gloved fingers. “Amazing how fast the granulation tissue has filled this in. You’re very lucky it was just a graze, though. I don’t know if even you could recover from a bullet to the brain so quickly.”

“Or at all,” he attempted to joke, but no one laughed or even met his gaze. He cleared his throat. “So, will my hair cover it or should I wear a hat?”

“I’d go with the hat, but make sure it’s not too binding or you’ll squeeze out blood or exudate and make a mess of yourself.”

He didn’t ask any more questions as Laura changed her gloves and went about checking Natasha’s injuries. “I’m, uh, just gonna go get dressed. I’ll be back before I go.” Natasha smiled at him before he followed Sam out of the room. He could smell coffee brewing downstairs in the kitchen as Sam pointed toward the door of the study where he’d met with Fury the previous night.

“I tossed your bag in Fury’s room when Clint and them took over the other bedroom.” Sam rolled his eyes at Steve’s hesitation. “Relax. Big man’s already downstairs making omelets and it’s just an office anyway. Go get ready to be Steve Miller and take the money and run.”

“Right.”

“Once you get back you can tell Natasha how you really like her peaches and you wanna shake her tree.”

Steve paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I feel like she said that exact same thing the other day.”

“Abra, abracadabra!” Sam waved his hand toward the door. “Put on some clothes so you can fly like an eagle.”

More confused than ever, Steve nodded and slipped away to get dressed. He trusted Sam enough to explain the odd phrases at some point, even if some teasing was involved. Steve tugged on a pair of cargo shorts and a Dodgers t-shirt (Natasha had told him it was ‘very American’ to shove one’s American-ness in people’s faces via displays of allegiance to sports teams the rest of the world didn’t particularly care about). He couldn’t find a ballcap in the bag, so he hoped someone had brought one he could borrow. He ran his fingers through his hair and beard to neaten them, but didn’t bother with a comb.

He was parked in front of an omelet in the kitchen less than a minute later, listening to Scott wax poetic about potatoes. “…and say what you want about Cracker Barrel, but their cheesy hash brown casserole is basically ambrosia. I mean, you should ask Thor if the gods have something like it because I can see galactic wars starting over that stuff.”

“You got something wrong in your head, Lang,” Fury griped, never turning away from the eggs he was preparing on the griddle (over easy for Cooper, sunny-side up for Lila and mushy for Nathaniel). Who knew Fury was such a good cook? Steve finished his omelet and rose to put his plate in the sink and refill his coffee cup.

Scott was undaunted. “And at Denny’s they have…”

“Moons over my hammy?” Sharon interrupted. “God, I haven’t had that since college!” She bumped Steve with her shoulder by the coffee pot. “Ready for today?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” He filled her cup before his own. “Like you said, it’ll be easy.”

“How’s Agent Romanoff?”

“She’s…okay. I’m actually gonna…” He gestured toward the stairs with his full coffee cup, sloshing some over the rim. He wanted to get a few more minutes with Natasha before leaving. “Just let me know when we’re ready to go?”

“No problem. Ship hasn’t even docked in Genoa yet.” Sharon waved a phone at him, presumably displaying an app regarding the ship.

He nodded and ducked his head and speed-walked out of the kitchen, spilling more coffee over his hand as he did so.

* * *

Steve didn’t feel any less awkward in the passenger seat of the itty-bitty Fiat as Sharon drove them to Genoa. He told himself for the thousandth time that she understood that their kiss had been a spur of the moment event that didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life, but he hadn’t kissed enough women in his life to really push one kiss off to the side as an insignificant occurrence. He hated that he couldn’t move on, but…there it was.

Sharon remained disconcertingly casual. “Saints fan today?”

“Uh…” he self-consciously touched the gold fleur de lis on his faded black hat. “Well, this was the only thing Sam had that I could borrow. I, uh, don’t really follow football.”

“Well, just say Drew Brees if anyone asks who your favorite player is.” She smoothly changed lanes between two trucks, the small car being subtly sucked into the whooshing current of the larger vehicles before accelerating. Steve blinked as the impossibly blue Mediterranean reappeared to the right. “You still seem a little nervous.”

“No, I’m…” He thought back to his goodbye kiss with Natasha half an hour before, hating the unwelcome finality of it. “Okay, I guess I’m a little nervous. Who knows what happened on the ship last night?”

“The ship was fine, but about 120 people didn’t make it back aboard as a result of the blackout and had to be bused to Genoa by the cruise line. There’s still no word on any reputable news sites about what happened in Monaco, other than a vague statement from the police about an attempted heist at the casino. I don’t think they’ll be able to get much else until they get the power back and start accessing their CCTV feeds. They’re keeping everything else hush-hush. Even social media has been pretty quiet.” Sharon’s cheeks actually started to color as he stared at her with surprised respect. “What? Agent Hill briefed me while you were saying goodbye to Agent Romanoff.”

“Oh. Right.” There had been a brief mention of the power outage in Monaco on the BBC news station that had been on in the background while he’d attempted to get his fill of (innocently) cuddling Natasha before leaving, but it had just been a blip. “Then we’re still in the clear?”

“As far as we know. Agent Barton agreed to keep an eye on Agent Hill’s monitoring setup while she and Director Fury are turning in the plutonium, so we should get an instant update if anything hits the wire while we’re away.”

“Good. Good.” He shot his hands out to catch himself on the dashboard as Sharon suddenly swerved into the other lane to avoid a slow-moving truck. “Sorry! You’re a good driver!”

She laughed as she straightened their trajectory toward an off-ramp. “Relax!” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “We’re nearly to the spot we’re parking.”

He wasn’t sure how she figured ‘nearly’ to the harrowing twenty minutes of city-driving, complete with Italian curses and rude gestures, that preceded their arrival at a parking garage off the Via Venezia. He was just happy to see the hulking white shape of the cruise ship moored at a pier when they emerged from the blocks of greyish buildings. He didn’t find it strange when she grasped his hand as they crossed streets beneath a highway overpass on their way to the port.

They made it aboard the ship without incident. Steve was beginning to think they had accomplished their mission when he pushed his keycard into the slot on the stateroom door. Sharon had made a comment about the messy condition of the bedclothes that he had ignored in favor of grabbing his backpack from the closet. The photos were in the same pocket where he’d put them when Clint had handed them over in Dijon. “Okay. I’ve got the pictures.”

“Great. Now all we have to do is…” A knock on the door interrupted what they had to do.

Sharon opened the door to cut off the incessant knocking. Steve nearly tripped over his feet when he heard Dorrie exclaim, “Who are you and where are Steve and Natasha?”


	19. Chapter 19

“Steve! _Who_ is this hussy and _where_ is Natasha?” Dorrie demanded as she used her can to push past a stunned Sharon into the stateroom with all the combined dignity of a lord sweeping through Parliament and a bull in a china shop.

Steve had hardly blinked away his surprise before Ann followed her mother, slamming the door behind her and shouting in a no less commanding voice, “Tell me why I shouldn’t call my supervisor at MI-6 this very moment!”

Sharon managed to silence the two women by pulling a sidearm she definitely shouldn’t have been able to sneak past the metal detectors from somewhere she shouldn’t have been able to conceal under her form fitting khaki capris and tank top. “Everyone just calm down right now!”

“Oh, my!” Dorrie exclaimed, dropping her cane and abruptly falling onto the unmade bed in spite of Steve’s attempt to catch her.

“It’s okay!” he shouted, trying to diffuse a situation that already had Sharon pressing a gun against Ann’s throat as she slammed the startled Englishwoman against the wall. “Everything’s okay! Dorrie and Ann aren’t a threat.”

“She threatened to call us in,” Sharon said in a low voice, still holding Ann against the wall but no longer pointing her weapon quite so dangerously. “I need to know we won’t be compromised before I agree to _anything_.”

Ann squawked an assurance that she wouldn’t call anyone, probably more as a means of self-preservation than anything else and Sharon released her, though she did immediately and forcefully guide her over to sit on the small couch. Steve blushed as Ann had to move a lacy black bra before taking her seat; he distinctly remembered flinging that particular piece of appealing lingerie in that general direction after taking it off Natasha the last night they’d spent aboard. He hoped there weren’t any similar surprises among the sheets as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside Dorrie. Sharon just raised an eyebrow as she sat on the couch, still grasping her weapon. She used it to the gesture toward the bra now on the floor. “Think you should bring that back for Agent Romanoff?”

“Who is Agent…?”

Sharon interrupted Dorrie’s question tersely, “Were you watching this room? Is that how you knew we were here?”

“Yes,” Ann replied bluntly. “We wanted to know when you were back after whatever you did yesterday that shut down all the power in Monaco.”

“That wasn’t us,” Steve protested. “That was the bad guys we were there to stop.”

“Oh, bang up job, then.” Ann cringed as Sharon nudged her with the nose of her pistol, although Steve could see that the safety was on. “We trusted you!”

“Steve, you mustn’t take her amiss.” Dorrie put her hand on his knee. “She’s simply cross because some of the day’s escorted tours, including hers, were canceled so the buses could bring the people who were stranded yesterday back to the ship.”

“No, Mum, I’m _cross_ because we trusted Steve and Natasha with whatever they were planning and look what happened!”

“If you just give me a few minutes to explain …” Steve began.

“Steve, you can’t tell them anything!” Sharon interrupted, looking more stunned than she had when pushed aside by two civilians. “They’re not cleared and I’m not reading in a couple of strangers!”

“They’re not strangers. Ann helped us and Dorrie and Tom didn’t turn us in even though they’d recognized us. They deserve to know _something_.” He looked at Sharon with what he hoped was his best sincere expression – the one Sam called his Labrador Face. Steve wasn’t exactly going to back down, considering he’d talked about the potential for meeting Ann and Dorrie with Natasha that morning and rehearsed a vague but honest statement about what had happened in Monaco; he had no doubt that either Fury or Maria would have told him what not to say in no uncertain terms before he and Sharon had departed. He did his best to recite his carefully constructed account word for word, “Natasha and I went to the casino to take something dangerous away from people who shouldn’t have it. Another person who also shouldn’t have had it tried to get it and he’s the one that caused the blackout. Fortunately, we were able to get it and I don’t think any innocent people got hurt, though there were some casualties. Our trusted associates are in the process of turning the thing over to responsible authorities as we speak.”

He looked to Sharon for approval that he’d been sufficiently ambiguous, but she and Ann were both looking at him with frowns. Ann asked, “And this one? Were you keeping a backup blonde in case of emergency?”

“No. We actually didn’t know Sharon was coming. Nat just…got a little bit stabbed.” He just barely suppressed a gasp as Dorrie’s fingers dug into his thigh. “She’s going to be okay. I’m okay, too.” He took off his cap and pointed to his healing injury, provoking an even tighter clutch from Dorrie.

“No, dear! With such a hurt you shouldn’t even be out of bed!”

“I’m okay, I…”

“And poor Natasha!” Dorrie went on. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have left her side if her life was in any danger, but _stabbed_! Do send our best along to her, won’t you?”

“Mum!” Ann exclaimed. “They’re international fugitives who were just directly involved in an enormous incident!”

“Yes, but you heard Steve! They took something very dangerous away from some very dodgy characters! They may have saved all of our lives! They’re heroes!”

Steve ducked his head reflexively in what Sam called his Aw Shucks Pose. “Well, I…”

Dorrie continued to Ann, “And I do believe it was your suggestion to help them in the first place.” Her tone took on a pinched quality that mimicked her daughter quite well, “They’ve got access to special intelligence, Mum. They’re trained for this sort of thing, Mum.”

“That is not how I sound!”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as Dorrie and Ann argued. All he really wanted was to get off the ship and back to Natasha. It didn’t help that the whole cabin was suffused with her subtle perfume, affecting him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He wanted to bury his head in the pillows, inhaling her scent until… He shifted, uncomfortable in his shorts and suddenly unable to ignore Natasha’s invisible presence in the room. When he tried to find something to focus on, his eyes landed on the black bra on the floor. It was so easy to imagine feeling the swell of Natasha’s breast under his hand as he caressed her, the firm bud of her nipple pebbling against his palm before he unclasped that little piece of lace… Holy hell…

Breathe. Breathe. ’41 Dodgers went 100 and 54 under Lou Durocher, lost the Series to the Yankees 4 to 1. Pete Reiser hit .343. Dolph Camilli smacked 34 homers. Kirby Higbe and Whit Wyatt…

He gotten though most of the roster and stopped breathing to his nose, but he regained his composure in time to stop Dorrie from swinging her cane toward either Ann or Sharon – he suspected that her target was Sharon, as she was the one looking more offended. “Okay, there’s no need for violence.”

“Hey, I’m not the one…” Sharon started, but Dorrie thrusted her cane again before Steve could stop her. “Relax, lady!”

“It’s okay, Dorrie,” Steve said, wrapping his arm around the older woman’s shoulders. “I promise you that Nat are going to be fine and we did our very best to make sure no one got hurt who didn’t absolutely deserve it.”

“Steve! Oh, Steve!” She suddenly hugged him, pulling him down to her level. He didn’t try to rise to a more comfortable height but returned the embrace. “You need to stay safe, you hear me? You and Natasha need to be happy and healthy and…oh, your children have to be safe, too, when you’ve had them!”

Taken aback, he managed to shrink away as he stammered, “I think it’s a little early to talk about kids.”

“It’s never too early when two people love each other!” Dorrie countered. “Why, Tom and I were barely into our twenties when we had our Edward! And you and Natasha make such a lovely couple!”

“Hey, that’s not…” Steve found himself competing with Ann, though he was torn between his own misgivings about fatherhood and his impulse to defend himself and his relationship with Natasha. He loved her and would do just about anything to be with her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to include children in the equation. It wouldn’t be fair.  

Ann seemed to be more focused on the mere idea of her mother meddling. “They’re not like that, Mum! God, you can’t just let two people have a little fun without making it some kind of thing!”

“Nat is not just a little fun!” Steve protested, though Dorrie was already poking her cane at Ann’s ankle.

“Steve and Natasha are very much in love!” Dorrie proclaimed, interrupting Ann. “You can see that when you look at them together! Why, you should recognize it, Annie! You and Desmond were like that when you were at university!”

“Mum…” Ann abruptly trailed off as if she was as overcome by the recollection as Steve was, and Steve didn’t even possess that particular recollection. He’d only seen Desmond the middle aged guy who stared at Natasha like a hungry jackal. Or something less predatory. Like…like a cow looking at grass, maybe. It was a little odd to think of his relationship with Natasha in the context of a long marriage, though he certainly liked the idea that they could be moving in that direction. He wasn’t sure of the proper modern progression for wooing, but he knew he was probably going to have to let her tell him she loved him while not dying or drugged before he even broached the subject of commitment, but…

He was staring at the damn bra again. God, he wanted to see it against Natasha’s creamy skin again. He checked his watch and found they’d only been aboard for thirty minutes. He groaned internally.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Dorrie’s hand on his forehead told him that his groan had apparently been less internal than he’d thought. “How you must be suffering!”

“I’m really not.” Steve was careful not to hurt Dorrie as he resisted her encouragement to lie down. “I just…um, I’m hungry?” He glanced toward Sharon, who was giving him an incredulous look he was starting to get used to. “Maybe we could all go have lunch?”

“Steve, I really don’t think…”

Dorrie interrupted Sharon’s totally reasonable objection, “Oh, let’s do go to the buffet! We can meet Tom there!”

“Mum…” Ann rolled her eyes but muttered something about being hungry while the kids were preoccupied at the pool yet again.

Sharon was staring at Steve with wide eyes. “May I speak to you? Privately?” Dorrie cheerfully volunteered to wait in the hallway, but Sharon had already grabbed his arm to drag him into the bathroom. Steve was about to protest that there would be more room on the balcony when he remembered that talking outside could involve Kevin eavesdropping, and Steve was already in deep enough trouble.

He carefully closed the bathroom door and maneuvered his shoulders into the space just inside it as Sharon pushed herself up to sit on the sink. He made an attempt at levity. “So, I take it you’re not hungry?”

“I know we agreed to a ninety-minute window aboard, but we should just stay in the cabin and avoid attracting attention.” She offered him the most disapproving frown yet. “If it were you and Agent Romanoff it would be different, but if shipboard security spots me…we stick to the cabin until it’s time to go.”

“And what about Dorrie and Ann? We should just, what? Detain them in here the whole time?”

“Yes. We can order room service,” she replied obstinately. “We don’t have the option to…”

A sudden muffled knocking came through the bathroom door. Steve poked his head out of the bathroom in time to stop Ann from answering the cabin door. “I’ll just…”

“Hullo? Steve? Natasha?”

Steve sighed as he let Ann go let her father in. “Hi, Tom,” he said before he leaned back into the bathroom. “If the five of us go to lunch in the dining room, we’ll be able to keep an eye on them, right?”

Sharon narrowed her eyes at him, but nodded. “I guess we’re going to lunch.” She brushed past him and delivered a quick briefing to Tom, in addition to instructing the whole group about what would not be mentioned at lunch. Steve had the feeling he was in for a very long lecture on the drive back to the safe house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally saw Ragnarok! Happy as I always am to see a new MCU flick, I know I'm going to get retconned on something in a fic as a result. I forgive them because Thor3 was amazing, but it did squiff up a detail about the past Nat/Bruce in this story. So...yeah, I know. Just roll with it while pretending not to freak out, as I do.
> 
> Also, can we get an awesome girl power movie with Black Widow, Gamora and Valkyrie kicking ass across the galaxy? Maria Hill will be their Nick Fury!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a total brain-fart when I logged on the other day to see how that Romanogers cruise ship story was going and realized I was the one that needed to write a new chapter.

“…and I know you like them and that you think they’re good people, and I won’t even argue with that because they seemed very nice, but you can’t just tell them everything because they’re nice! It’s just not responsible to…”

Steve sighed and turned his attention back toward the hilly scenery rapidly passing by the car window. He had heard just about enough on the subject of his disregard for mission protocols by the time he and Sharon had walked from the pier back to the car, so he was well past his tipping point when she made the turn leading to Fury’s hilltop safe house. Steve had felt guilty enough about lying to Dorrie about seeing her soon when he and Natasha came back aboard at the next port; he didn’t need a dressing-down about his judgment as well. Still, he had listened to Sharon’s totally valid points about limiting the scope of the mission to qualified agents and not involving civilians the entire ride back from Genoa, not interrupting her or defending himself. She hadn’t had the opportunity to meet anyone prior to the assignment, so he supposed that her concerns were totally justified, even if Dorrie and Tom seemed willing to temporarily smother their own daughter to keep her from spilling the beans on Steve and Natasha, even though Steve was fairly sure Ann had just been making a sarcastic comment during lunch. There was no reason for Sharon to trust anyone but him and he probably wasn’t displaying the best judgement to someone on the outside.

It didn’t mean he _agreed_ with her concerns. Without saying so much, he apologized yet again to Sharon for not being clearer about what would be shared with his contacts on the ship, but he was already halfway out of the car when he offered a final, perfunctory, “Sorry.” He _trusted_ Dorrie and Tom and Ann, but they had ceased to be his main concern a while ago. He knew intellectually that Natasha was fine, that she was in good hands with Laura and Clint and Sam to look after her, but…

He dropped the photo-containing backpack he’d carried off the ship on the kitchen island. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he heard her laugh blending with others the moment he moved further into the house. He was walking on a cloud as he followed the musical sound to a very American den, or ‘man cave,’ as he had been told to call such rooms with couches surrounding an enormous television. He had a moment of confusion when he saw the blonde ponytail at the back of Natasha’s head; he had gotten used to her new hair color over the past few days, but he still associated her with red in his mind. He nodded greetings to Sam, Scott and Laura before he bent over the top of the sofa to pull Natasha into a gentle embrace. He found he was also hugging Lila, who was snuggled against Natasha’s side.

The young girl turned and threw his arms around his neck. “Hi, Steve!”

He saw Natasha smile up at him as he lifted Lila into his arms. “Hey, Kiddo. Are you holding down the fort?”

“Daddy and Wanda are watching the computers while we watch the news,” she replied seriously, waving toward the BBC broadcast on TV, with France 24 playing with subtitles in a small box in the corner. “They haven’t had any reports about Monaco yet that wasn’t about soccer.”

He nodded with what he hoped was believable gravity. “Thanks for the update.”

Not to be outdone as Steve set Lila down, Cooper piped up, “Falcao got two goals and an assist against Lille.”

“You guys really have been paying attention,” Steve replied, sinking onto the couch beside Natasha. “What else is up?”

He tuned Lila and Cooper out as they began describing a traffic accident that had tied up London near Gatwick earlier in the day in favor of nuzzling into the uninjured side of Natasha’s neck. She smelled like antiseptic over her natural perfume – the latter the same scent that had so distracted him on board. The backpack with the photos was currently stuffed with every scrap of lingerie he’d been able to find in the cabin, including the black bra that had so distracted him while on board. It wasn’t that he was obsessed with lacy underthings; he just understood how expensive such items could be. He’d also managed to cram a few pairs of her shoes in for good measure, so she would be flush in sexy lingerie and high heels and that was in no way indicative of how he really felt about her even if did result in some amazing pictures in his head and…

He was about to suggest they find somewhere else to talk when she nipped his earlobe and whispered, “Monegasque police and Interpol are supposedly holding a joint press conference within the hour.”

“Think they’ll say anything important?”

“No way to know.” She shot him a look that told him not to ask any more questions in that particular line.

He found it odd when the Barton kids were apparently helping to collect intel, but he didn’t press. “Oh. And, uh, what about you? How do you feel?”

“Much better.”

“Mommy let me help change Auntie Nat’s bandages,” Lila added. She looked up at Natasha with adoring eyes. “I’m a good nurse, right?”

“Catching up to your mom,” she replied seriously. “Everything feels really good right now.” Once Lila was engrossed in the news again (which seemed odd for a young girl, but…whatever), Natasha leaned up to whisper in his ear, “Laura gave me some Percocet, but Lila did do a good job.”

“I’m sure she did,” he whispered back. Much as he wanted to have an unimpaired conversation with Natasha, he was happy to hear she was in good enough company to accept painkillers.

He was saved from any meaningful questions as a woman in a burgundy blazer settled into an authoritative position behind a desk on TV. “We have some breaking news for you now. As you may already know, the Principality of Monaco was attacked last night by a terrorist organization that caused an electric and internet disruption throughout the region…” The woman on the screen was replaced by an image of the darkened Monaco skyline.

“More like a targeted attack,” Natasha whispered.

“Shh!” Cooper hissed, balancing a notepad on his lap as he swatted at her thigh with the hand holding his pen. “We’re gathering intel!”

Natasha smiled at him as the television announcer continued, “Power has been restored to the majority of the small country, though very little information regarding the cause of the outage has been released as of this time. We go now to Neal O’Brian at the Casino de Monte-Carlo…”

“Thank you, Hannah. We are live Interpol’s mobile headquarters in Casino Square, awaiting the official statement from…yes, I believe we are about to…”

The feed suddenly cut from the BBC’s young presenter in his ill-fitting suit to a well-groomed man at a podium on the casino steps speaking in clipped French, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we appreciate your patience as we have constructed a timeline of the attack over the past hours. Last evening at approximately 8 GMT, the casino was targeted by thieves attempting to steal assets from the Prince and the Nation of Monaco. We can assure the public that no one other than the criminals responsible for this reprehensible act was harmed in thwarting this attempt on our casino and those who have survived will be prosecuted to the furthest extent of the law. We believe that we have apprehended all those responsible, but we have set up a hotline if any member of the public believes they have any information…”

Steve sank into the couch cushions as they spokesman continued to provide misinformation. Cooper was diligently writing it down as quickly as he could. Natasha pressed against Steve’s side. “Think we got out of this one?”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Clint came into the room cursing. Both Laura and Natasha shot him disapproving looks, but his attention was firmly focused on the tablet he was holding. “Hill sent the SOS. We’ve got five minutes. Kids?”

Cooper immediately sprang to his feet. “I’ll get mine and Lila’s stuff while she gets the baby things!”

“Good.” Clint managed to pat both of his kids’ heads as they sprinted from the room. Laura was up, too, handing Nathaniel to Scott. “Honey, you get whatever medical gear we need and I’ll gather our stuff. Everyone else…”

“I got the personal bags,” Sam said, “and Scott’s got Nate. You and Wanda make sure the computer stuff is ready to go.”

“Sharon is already helping break it down,” Clint replied, rushing out of the room as everyone else followed on their specified tasks.

Steve was left wondering what he was supposed to do when Natasha held her arms out to him. “Guess you get stuck with the invalid.”

“Nat…”

“Just take me to the quinjet in the basement, Rogers. And don’t forget your backpack this time!” she reminded him as he lifted her into his arms. At least he no longer had questions about why the tunnel that Maria had mentioned on arrival was one-way, one-use.


	21. Chapter 21

Steve had set Natasha in a seat on the jet and reluctantly left to help carry the rest of the gear down, so he was slightly surprised to see her sitting in the pilot’s chair showing Cooper how to go through the pre-flight checks when he returned with the same large case of electronics he’d carried from the apartment in Monaco down to Maria’s Range Rover the previous day. “Nat, what are you doing? How did you get over there?”

“Yeah, those cuts on my shoulder and side really making walking tough,” she replied, not looking away from the screens. “I’m fine. Just keep loading the gear.” She pointed out a display to Cooper. “So what is this one for?”

“Um…it’s the air, right? I mean, the air we breathe?”

“It’s life support, so not just air, but…”

Steve cut off her explanation as he leaned over her opposite shoulder, “I had to carry you down here!”

She sighed as she scrolled to the next display for Cooper. “You didn’t _have_ to, but I’m not one to refuse your chivalry every so often.” She suddenly glanced up at him, shooting him a sharp wink. “Clint’s going to do the actual flying, if that makes you feel better.”

Steve looked toward Scott for support, but the latter just shook his head with a sympathetic smile and continued bouncing Nathaniel in his arms as he paced the length of the jet. “I’d offer to switch with you, Cap, but I don’t have my suit so I can’t carry the big loads you can.”

“That’s not what I…” He turned back to Natasha, who was already whispering about heat and cabin pressure to Cooper. “Okay. Fine, we’ll talk later,” Steve concluded with a sigh. Before heading back upstairs, he caught Lila as she ran up the ramp and lifted her up so she could tuck her black and red Black Widow backpack (which Cooper had dropped on the floor beside his own unbranded bag) into an overhead rack beside his own backpack stuffed with Natasha’s bras, panties and shoes. He distracted himself from the contents by reminding himself that, before living next-door to the Bartons, he hadn’t ever realized how much merchandizing of the Avengers Stark Industries had done.

He thought back to Coulson’s trading cards and how incongruous those had been with his self-image at one time; now he had gotten bored and annoyed with women showing him their ‘tramp stamps’ (as Stark called the lower-back tattoos) of his shield, even if he had agreed to sign more than one in permanent marker. It was mainly a tactic to give people what they wanted to get them to leave him alone sooner.  

“You can put me down now.”

He suddenly realized he was still holding Lila at rack level. “Oh, right.”

“Thanks, Steve!” she said with a big grin as he put her down and she ran toward Natasha and her brother to learn about how to prep the jet.

He sighed again, but found himself smiling as Auntie Nat pointed out something on the display to the two eager kids. He couldn’t stay mad at her in this situation; or any situation, as their history had shown. Even on occasions early in their partnership when he’d been genuinely angry at her – the incident on the Lemurian Star sprang immediately to mind – he had usually gotten over it quickly. He hadn’t even been able to muster lasting annoyance on the occasion she had produced the Sharpie he’d used to sign the lower-back tattoo he’d been thinking of moments before. He had no idea if it was related to his attraction to her, which was a complete self-deception because he vividly remembered the butterflies crashing angrily around his stomach that first moment on the deck of the helicarrier that revealed the 21st century might not be so terrible after all. Time had proven his first instinct correct about Natasha, so…

This was not the time for thoughts that focused him on the contents of his backpack, especially when she was still recovering from serious injuries. A third sigh blew through his pursed lips as he walked down the ramp of the quinjet, nearly bumping into a heavily-laden Sam.

“Need some help?”

Sam gave him a supremely unimpressed look over the pile of duffles in his arms, but didn’t offer to pass any of them over. “Nah, I got this. Hopefully I’ll get some nice tips for being team bellboy. I even grabbed yours from Fury’s office so you can go pick up something heavy.”  He continued into the jet. When Steve turned slightly, he could see several backpacks were also hanging off Sam’s shoulders and arms. He shrugged and took off up the stairs.

The tech in the improvised situation room was almost totally contained in thick black cases by now, though a chaotic tangle of disconnected wires remained. Sharon was yanking them from outlets, gathering them up in bundles and tossing them into a garbage bag that Wanda was holding. Steve was about to ask if he could help when Clint grabbed him and directed him upstairs to help Laura collect the medical equipment. He spent the next twenty minutes as a pack mule, lugging gear down to the jet and tromping back up the stairs to repeat the process _ad infinitum_. He had broken a fair sweat by the time he sank into a passenger seat beside Natasha after pushing the last crate into the cargo hold while Clint and Sharon performed independent sweeps of the house for anything that had been missed.

Steve leaned back and closed his eyes, wanting a moment to catch his breath. He jumped slightly as Natasha unexpectedly combed her nails through his beard. “Sorry about earlier. I should have just walked down. I promise I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you.”

He met her soft gaze and any residual frustration converted to concern. Tipping his forehead to lean against hers, he whispered, “I just…I worry about you. I was supposed to be protecting you, but you were the one who got me outta there last night even though you were seriously hurt.” His mind flashed back to the prisoner transport in DC, Natasha telling him Bucky’s situation wasn’t his fault in spite of the bullet wound in her shoulder. “And I never even noticed you were bleeding until we were practically here!”

“Stop. You don’t have anything to feel guilty about. Steve, I…”

“Strap in, everybody!” Clint interrupted as he and Sharon boarded the jet as the last passengers. Natasha immediately turned to make sure that Lila, seated beside her, was fully secured in her harness. Cooper, who had taken the seat on Steve’s other side, tugged on his straps with a grin to show he was ready; Steve couldn’t help but give him a thumbs-up.

In spite of the warning, the ramp remained down even as Clint powered up the jet’s engines. Sam called out, “What’s the holdup?”

“Waiting on our last passenger,” Clint mumbled, just audible over the comm unit Steve and some of the others and put on.

“Um…” Steve carefully looked around the jet, counting and recounting before speaking up, “We’re all here.”

Clint was undaunted, still muttering, “Come on, come on…”

To Steve’s shock, Maria sprinted up the ramp a moment later, shouting, “I’m here! Go!”

Clint hit the throttle simultaneously with the ramp closure. There was a momentary suction in the cabin, pulling Maria off her feet and toward the yawning gap of the open rear of the jet. Before Steve could react, Natasha had reached out to grab Maria’s arm. She was holding her friend firmly in spite of her own injuries. He reached out to awkwardly grasp Maria’s hips and provide more support. The cabin was sealed by the time the jet really accelerated out of the tunnel and into the sky.

“Don’t pull a stitch on my account,” Maria remarked as their ascent stabilized and Natasha and Steve let go of her. He was almost positive that was some kind of elaborately masked ‘thank you’ that Natasha accepted with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow.

For his part, Sam looked slightly shell-shocked, but he did struggle out of his harness and rushed to escort Maria to an unoccupied seat. She seemed slightly taken aback by the gesture, going along with it only after a moment’s consideration. “I’m guessing Clint didn’t mention I was coming?”

“All he said was you sent an SOS,” Sam said, recovering some of his usual cool. “We’re not headed back to that cruise ship to play shuffleboard against Steve and Nat, are we?”

“Hardly.” She pulled the comm unit from his ear and turned toward the cockpit after setting it on her own. “Clint, you have the coordinates?”

“Yep. Hope Striberg is ready for us.”

Natasha groaned, prompting Steve’s stomach to drop through the floor, but she was glaring at Maria with a dangerous level of irritation rather than collapsing in pain. “The only thing Gustav and Anna hate more than my showing up unannounced is my showing up unannounced _with guests_!”

“Relax. I called and explained the situation. Gustav said he’ll fire up the sauna while Anna makes stroganoff.” Maria returned Natasha’s glare with a smug smirk. “How have I never been invited to your Swedish safe house complete with staff and sauna?”

“They’re not _staff_!” He managed to catch Natasha before she could jump out of her seat. “They’re acquaintances kind enough to maintain a property I own right beside theirs.”

“That you bought for them, huh?”

“Maria…”

“Behave, adult children!” Laura proclaimed over the comms. Both Maria and Natasha looked somewhat abashed (at least for them) as Laura shifted the sleeping baby in her arms. “ _Mean Girls_ was a fun movie, but I don’t want to see it as a reality show.”

Maria withdrew to whisper to Sam, so Steve took his cue to talk quietly to Natasha. “Gustav and Anna?”

She gave him a slightly raised eyebrow before turning up the mouthpiece of her comm and leaning toward his ear. “Swedish diplomatic attaché and Red Room affiliate who fell in love. I may have helped her escape and set up housekeeping. At least the beef stroganoff will be authentic.”

“And this is where you’ve been staying?”

“I have a house on their farm that comes in handy from time to time. They like to make sure there are fresh linens out and a stocked pantry when they know I’m going to be there.”

Steve didn’t get to ask for clarification of the deflection as Sam’s laugh rang through the jet. “Seriously? That’s the bag labeled Barbie clothes?”

“Goddamn it, Maria,” Natasha hissed, though she didn’t try to launch herself across the cabin this time. Steve nuzzled against her neck. He was far more interested in her relationship with the couple on her Swedish farm, though he was also concerned about what had changed since Fury had indicated they may be able to return to their lives the previous day. Steve resigned himself to asking for an update later as Cooper, Lila, Wanda, and Scott began asking questions about their new accommodations.


	22. Chapter 22

The Swedish farm Natasha counted as a safe house was less rustic and more hotel-like than Steve had anticipated, almost as if it had been built with multiple residents in mind. He was currently on a quick tour with everyone except Natasha, who had disappeared immediately after the quinjet had been concealed in the hangar disguised as a barn. They had already seen the sauna, lake and bomb-proof bunker with an entrance concealed behind the rabbit hutch. He followed the tall, blond, potentially long-lost Asgardian warrior Gustav to a paddock of miniature ponies. Lila immediately declared, “This is the greatest place in the whole world!”

Laura assured Gustav that the kids were used to animals and Cooper offered to feed the geese, which was enough to convince the gentle giant to open the paddock gate. Steve smiled as Lila forced herself not to sprint toward a cream colored pony nursing a tiny foal. Although he had expected Wanda to coo over the animals, Scott was also apparently enamored. Sam shook his head with a smirk. “You speak their language, TicTac?”

Scott flipped a rude gesture in their direction as he knelt to scratch the ears of a little bay pony. Gustav grinned indulgently and led the remaining group of Steve, Sam, Clint, Maria and Sharon across the lawn and into the house.  

They parted ways on the open ground floor with a wide living room that opened into a dining room and bright kitchen, the three others heading upstairs to claim bedrooms on the second and third floors. Steve hung back to pull Gustav aside. “I just really want to say thank you for having us here.”

“This is Natalia’s home.” Steve felt cowed as Gustav looked down at him. “Thank her for having you.”

Steve didn’t have a good counterargument, so he simply nodded at the man he suspected Thor would call ‘Uncle’ and turned toward where Natasha was sitting at the kitchen island, chatting with Anna in Russian. He really had been expecting a cramped retreat in the woods after her exchange of quips with Maria during the flight about the opportunity for harvesting lingonberries (“We’re going to Sweden, not freaking Ikea!” Natasha had finally snapped, though she had used a different f-word that had required a stern “Language!” even if the Barton kids weren’t particularly bothered), so he was feeling a little unmoored as he  cautiously approached the espresso machine. Rather than fiddling with the knobs and levers, he poured himself a cup of coffee from the attached carafe and sat down beside Natasha without invitation.

Although he didn’t understand Russian, the two women immediately stopped speaking. He was about to awkwardly excuse his interruption when Anna reached her hand toward him. “Natalia is forgetting her manners. I am Anna. You are Steve.”

“Yes. I am Steve,” he repeated back to her. Natasha snorted into her coffee, but he plowed onward, “It’s nice to meet you, Anna. Thank you for having us.”

“Having you where? This is Natalia’s house. Kusti and I are the neighbors, living next door.”

“Oh.” He remembered what Gustav had told him not a minute before. “Right.”

“And I am only cooking for you in the pinch. You will make the shopping list while you stay and Kusti will go into the town for buying. You are here very…very…” She turned her unblinking icy eyes toward Natasha. “What is тайный?”

“Secret.”

“No, I am knowing secret. You are giving me the better word in the English.”

“Uh, covert, underground, clandestine…”

“That is what I am wanting! You are here very clandestine. No bringing the attention.”

“We’ll all be on our best behavior,” Natasha said with mock sweetness. She added something in Russian that made Anna laugh.

“Yes, well…you are all settling in and I am calling you in two hours for the dinner.” She shooed them toward the stairs, giving Steve a decidedly obvious gesture with her head until he suggested that he carry Natasha upstairs. She protested, but he still leaned down to sweep her into his arms. “Two hours!” Anna called after them as he held Natasha carefully against him, doing his best not to jostle her too much as he brought her to the second floor.

“End of the hall,” she whispered, punctuating the order with a nip at his earlobe. He could hear voices behind one of the doors off the hallway that made him think Sam and Maria may have agreed to share a room, but Steve was too distracted by the need to open the door of the large bedroom at the end of the hall. Moments later, he was setting Natasha on the king-size bed after kicking the door shut. “Two hours.” The statement sounded so much better when she was purring it suggestively into his neck. He leaned down beside her, letting a soft kiss deepen into something more. She tasted like strong coffee on his probing tongue as his hand slipped down along her ribcage…

She suddenly gasped into his mouth – and not because he was such a good kisser, though he did think he’d improved considerably since they’d first gotten together. He pulled back as he realized he’d allowed his heavy touch to land on the bandages covering her right side. “Oh, God!” He withdrew to the other side of the bed, being careful not to push her at all in his attempt to put a safe distance between them. “Nat, I’m so sorry, I…”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“No, I…”

“It’s not that,” she cut him off. To his surprise, she was tugging him back into a full-body embrace in the middle of the bed. He was careful not to put his hands anywhere above her hips as she said, “I just want…” There was a prolonged pause while she simply looked at him. “Honestly?”

“You can always be honest with me.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“I wasn’t trying…”

“I know. I just…I don’t know what I want.”

“Nat…” He pushed down his first instinct to tell her that he loved her. There was honesty and then there was uncomfortable truth; he had no intention of making her uncomfortable. He hoped his next question didn’t toe the line on that as he instead asked, “Why, uh, why here?”

She lifted her head to look at him with an incredulous raised brow. “It’s my safe house, Steve. We needed a place and I’ve got one.”

“I know, but…were you planning this?”

“Not exactly _this_ , but a version of this? Yeah. I’ve had the place for a while, but after we had to hide at Clint’s house during the whole Ultron thing, I had it upgraded in case we had to hide out again.” She dropped her head back onto his chest and drew circles with her fingertip on the material of his shirt. “The story was that Anna and Gustav sold the land to some rich foreigner who only comes through on vacations from the high-pressure banking world once or twice a year and demands complete privacy. Anna told me they suspect it’s an oligarch with ties to the Russian Mafia and they’re too scared or too smart to ask too many questions.”

Slipping his arm carefully around her, he leaned down slightly to press a kiss against her hair. “Well, I’m glad you’ve got this place and those two here. You, um, you said you knew them from, um, the Red Room?” He was thankful she wasn’t looking at him at the moment, because he knew he’d flinched when he’d mentioned her former employer. He’d been trying not to think about the Red Room while they completed their mission, even if she’d been distracted by her past with Yakushev. She so rarely let anything slip about her past, but he felt like he’d learned more about it in the past few days than in the previous years. The majority of what he now knew made him feel guilty that he’d been frozen and unable to rescue her from… He ran headlong into the paradox of Natasha that sometimes gnawed at the back of his thoughts – without her blood-soaked history, she wouldn’t be the superhero she’d become, and if she’d never become a superhero…

“Don’t get lost in there.” She was suddenly pressing two fingers between his eyebrows. He let her gentle touch massage away the crease he was sure had developed there. “I’d offer a penny for your thoughts, but it’s probably up to about a dollar twenty-something with inflation.”

“Shouldn’t we be on the Euro here?” His voice cracked in spite of his attempt to match her lighthearted humor.

“Nah, Sweden’s still on the krona. Seriously, though. Are you okay, Steve?”

“It’s…I think I actually feel _safe_ here.” He waited a beat, but she didn’t interrupt with a quip about it being a safe house. “Even at Fury’s place, I was still tense because of the pictures that were still on the ship, but here…there’s a place that was made for us and no one’s coming to get us and now…Nat, we stole a nuclear bomb from terrorists in a casino yesterday and you got stabbed and…I went back to the ship like nothing ever happened and we had to run without Fury and…and…”

“…and you’re finally coming down from the nonstop adrenalin high, huh?” She stroked his beard before carding her fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to always be the strongest one in the room.”

“I just have to make sure…”

“Take a break. I got you, Steve. I got you.”

For the first time in nearly a week, he let go. He let go of his worry about his friends being discovered and arrested, he let go of his concern about Natasha, he let go of the mission and its implications… He just relaxed as she continued to fiddle with his hair and beard, holding her against him like that could guarantee eternity. “Nat…”

“Shhh. I love you, too.”

He dozed off in her arms before he could confirm that was, in fact, what he’d been about to tell her.


	23. Chapter 23

It didn’t take long for everyone to settle down in Sweden – Cooper and Lila had more or less demanded a list of animal chores during the first meal of amazing beef stroganoff, Steve had gotten to work with most of the team to engineer a smash and grab mission to retrieve everyone’s possessions and the Bartons’ pets from Dijon, Wanda was bonding with Anna over the joy of cooking with root vegetables and ‘underused’ meats…really, it was the best case scenario, given their status as international fugitives. Much as Steve was enjoying it, he wasn’t sure why Natasha was still on pins and needles. He got the feeling that she was taking over his customary responsibility for the team, given that she had brought them to her property. He supposed he was just used to the burden of command. Not that she was seeking support, but…

He leaned in to press a kiss against her temple at her as she carried a box filled with Wanda’s knick-knacks past him down the stairs. “Need a hand?”

She gave him a swish of her hips in response. Laura had removed the last of her stitches before they’d boarded the jet and Natasha was moving with the same grace and confidence she always did. Of course, her tension level was also considerably reduced now that they were actually doing something, even if that particular something was tossing everything that wasn’t nailed down into assorted crates to be snuck into the clearing where the quinjet was hidden before dawn revealed their presence in the two houses outside Dijon. Maria and Sharon had replaced Scott and Wanda to reduce the number of wanted individuals in the vicinity, but Steve doubted that would matter if the authorities got wind of them.

They had pulled the trigger on the operation after getting several encrypted messages from Fury that struck a confusing balance between apocalyptic warnings and cautious optimism. Although the plutonium delivery had included an unexpected number of people who wanted to arrest the fugitive Avengers, Fury was also in touch with a group pushing for reconciliation and reintegration of the team. Unsurprisingly, T’Challa was leading that faction. There was still no news about what had really happened in Monaco from any of the major news organizations, though Maria (or Wanda and Anna for the moment) was monitoring several websites known for conspiracy-mongering; it looked like someone on the inside, either a casino employee or surviving arms dealer, was definitely talking. It wasn’t clear if whoever it was had recognized Captain America and the Black Widow, even if most of the authorities (excluding Interpol, caught flat-footed on the operation) had reluctantly agreed with Fury that the two had performed admirably.

Natasha was also following the cruise ship online and using the programs she’d uploaded to monitor what Dorrie and her family were up to, based on room access records and drink orders; she had managed to find a note in the housekeeping log about her and Steve’s apparent absence, even if the ship’s computers thought they were still aboard. He was hopeful they’d never be connected to the Navigator of the Seas’ stop in Monaco. He worried that Ann’s position at MI-6, however non-sensitive, could be compromised. Hell, he didn’t even want to see Kevin suffer any repercussions.

“Steve? Steve!”

He looked up from dumping another armful of shirts and sweaters into the crate at his feet to see Sam’s expectant face. “What?”

“Space out once we’ve got all Scott’s crap outta here, huh?”

“Right.” Steve grabbed the remaining clothes hanging in the closet off their hangers and dropped them without folding them. His initial protests about taking care of everyone’s things had been met with Natasha pouring the contents of his bureau drawers into a crate two hours ago, and they were getting closer and closer to sunrise, so he had long lost his scruples about respect for unbreakable personal property. He looked around as Sam dropped an armful of books into the crate. “This is the last room in our house, right?”

“Yep. Nat’s grabbing the last living room and kitchen stuff and Maria said that she and Sharon have gotten all the Barton kids’ stuff plus Clint and Laura’s while Clint hunted down all the cats. I just hope Mildred behaves on the flight back.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. Gustav had helped them set up a temporary stall for the Bartons’ donkey on the quinjet on hearing she would be coming to Sweden, also promising to have quarters ready for her when she arrived – hopefully in the real barn. She had been the first item of ‘cargo’ loaded and confirmed her happiness about the team’s presence with a bray every time one of them carried something aboard. Poirot and Hastings, the family’s Belgian Sheepdogs, had to be locked in the pantry after seeing Clint for the first time in three days (the friendly but tight-lipped neighbors had been letting them out and feeding them, along with Mildred and the cats) and still threatened to give everything away with their delirious barking.

Steve turned his attention back to clearing out Scott’s room, hoping the small jars of live insects would be okay. Slamming the lid of the crate and snapping the clasps a few minutes later, Steve hoisted the heavy container onto his shoulders before turning to Sam. “Take a final run-through, okay?”

Sam gave him a mock-salute. “Aye-aye, Cap.”

Not long afterwards, everyone was safe aboard the quinjet. Clint had slipped through the gate to the adjoining property to leave a thank you note for the elderly DuChamps, who had never come out and identified their Avenger neighbors but had always been very pleasant in a wink and nod sort of way. Before taking his spot in the pilot’s chair, Clint insisted on looking into the four improvised cat carriers one by one. “Okay, we got Chat, Gato, Katze, Kissa…wait, where’s…oh, I should have known Kot was in there with Katze. Those two are so cliquey.”

Natasha shook her head as she secured the still-ecstatic dogs’ leashes to a hook attached to Mildred’s stall after providing a solid ten minutes of pre-flight belly rubs. “You named all your cats ‘Cat’?”

“They’re _cats,_ ” Clint replied. “Not like they give a shit what we call them and I can’t keep up with Lila’s naming system. You think Chat cares that someone thinks his ‘real’ name is Chevalier Chat Lafayette Barton, aka Chevy? Hell no; he just wants gushy food.”

She shooed him toward the cockpit before taking her own seat beside Steve. The flight back to Striberg was uneventful but for Mildred becoming slightly spooked by a few moments of turbulence and letting loose what seemed to be the entire contents of her bowels. Steve could fully sympathize when Hastings threw up (if not when he and Poirot delightedly ate the unexpected snack); most everyone was looking a little green by the time they landed and concealed the quinjet.

He stepped outside to take a deep breath of fresh air, narrowly missing being run over as the Barton kids ran to greet their pets. Three out of five cats disappeared in various directions the moment Cooper opened their carriers, while the dogs bounced excitedly around both kids before running to Laura as she held the happily shrieking Nathaniel, reaching his small hands down to be licked. Steve found himself leaning against the fence, watching Lila formally introduce Mildred to her favorite ponies when Natasha sidled up beside him. “Most of the stuff doesn’t need to be unloaded just yet. I’m sure everyone will grab what they really want over the next few hours, but there’s no need to do any more heavy lifting for now.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

She leaned into his shoulder. “Y’know, our bathroom has an oversize tub and I’m finally allowed to be submerged in water…with bubbles…”

Finally getting the message, he chased her into the house and upstairs. She was wrapped around him the moment he closed the bedroom door and he half-carried her toward the bathroom while trying to avoid crashing into anything; it was hard to pay attention to anything but how hungrily she was kissing him. He realized she wasn’t the only one focused on physical intimacy when he couldn’t force himself to let go of her so she could get into the bathroom to turn on the tap. She laughed into his mouth. “I thought we were sweaty enough from the move, but if you want to start this off in bed…”

“Sorry, you just…” he trailed off as she pulled her shirt off. The bra she was wearing was one he’d brought from the ship – shiny purple with black detailing. He reached out to trace over the small vines embroidered on the cups, thumbs grazing the hardened peaks of her nipples as he did. “Wow. I…wow.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you happened to rescue this one.” She ran her fingertips down one strap and over the top of one breast, drawing his attention to her cleavage. “It’s so rare to find good support in such a pretty one.”

“Pretty one,” he echoed in a murmur, far less concerned with the bra’s prettiness than what he knew it was temptingly concealing. He dipped his head to kiss the line where her skin disappeared under one of the cups. “Beautiful.” In spite of the discomfort it caused in his own pants, he slowly knelt, kissing down her bared torso until his was face to bellybutton with her.

She looked down at him, smile framed by her breasts. God, that made a gorgeous picture. “Steve, I’m too tired to be sure I’m gonna be able to stay on my feet if you’re down there for any particular reason.”

“Don’t worry.” He chuckled as his pressed a soft kiss just above the button on her jeans. “I’ll hold you up.” He had just tugged her pants down from her hips to reveal she was wearing a lingerie _set_ when someone knocked loudly on the door. Maria called out, “Sorry to interrupt, but I was going over the intel from while we were gone and it looks like…”

“It’s on TV!” Sam suddenly shouted, voice drawing closer over the length of the sentence. “Sorry, but they just put video of you guys on TV!”

Maria continued, “Yeah, it looks like the media has gotten security footage prior to the blackout and recognized Steve even with his brilliant disguise.”

“We’ll be right there,” Steve said, letting his forehead rest against Natasha’s stomach. “Never ends.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently. “It’s okay. Maria just doesn’t understand your beard like I do.”

He smiled in spite of the fact that she was pulling away and putting her shirt back on. After some strategically applied cold water, he was ready to follow her downstairs to the command center in the living room.

Maria’s fingers were a blur as she typed on a laptop, but everyone else (except the Bartons and Gustav) was sitting or standing around the television, watching the CNN International breaking news broadcast. “…and again, we do want to emphasize that this is mostly speculation at this point, but the bearded man in the security tape does appear to be the fugitive Steve Rogers, who was, of course, the hero Captain America until he refused to sign the Sokovia Accords last year…”

Steve was about to protest the anchor’s assessment when Natasha squeezed his wrist. He bit back his argument and just listened as the video showed them arriving at the casino. He had to admire that there didn’t seem to be a clear view of her face in the short clip. “At this hour, we do not have much information about the woman Captain Rogers was accompanying, but we have received independent confirmation from multiple sources that there were as many as nine fatalities inside a private gaming room of the casino when gunfire erupted just after the blackout. We have reached out to Monegasque police, but our inquiries about whether these reports are accurate have yet to be confirmed.” The video repeated on a loop on the split screen while the anchor held two fingers to her ear. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am receiving information that we can confirm that the car you are seeing in the video – which was abandoned outside the casino and subsequently seized by authorities – is registered in France under a Lucia della Brignole, an Italian citizen. We do not know at this time if this is the woman seen in the video. Please stay with us as we bring you details about this developing story as we learn them.”

Natasha took a seat beside Maria as the station went to commercial. In the sudden burst of conversation that sprang up from the team, Wanda rushed over to Steve and buried her face in his chest. “I’m so, so sorry! We watched all the things Maria showed us, but we missed something and now they know about you and…”

“It’s not that bad,” Steve said, trying to be strong and comforting. “I’m sure you did your best and we’re safe up here anyway, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “But…”

“There!” Natasha suddenly cried, pointing to the laptop screen.

Maria swatted her hand away with an annoyed huff. “I see it. One of the gorillas is talking to the press, for reasons best comprehended by his own tiny brain. Of course, that doesn’t explain how they got the footage.”

“Van Rooyen probably had someone keeping an eye on arrivals. That would explain why there’s just this one clip.”

“Only a matter of time now before someone finds a clear shot of your face, assuming Interpol hasn’t already collected all the video of you and Steve walking from the cruise ship to the apartment.” Maria continued typing furiously.

“And there’s no reason to think the security footage wouldn’t have been made public at some point, right?” Steve asked, wanting to make Wanda feel better about her perceived error.

“Besides, it’s on CNN, not one of the less obvious sites you were told to monitor,” Natasha replied with a small smile at Wanda. Maria frowned, but didn’t disagree, probably because Wanda was still sniffling against Steve.

“So, do we need to worry about this here and now?” Sam asked. “I mean, even if they recognize both of you, it’s not like anyone but us knows where to find you.”

There was a round of agreement as they reassured themselves. It was Anna who broke them out of their suddenly nervous mood as she stood from the sofa and announced, “Scott is helping me making the breakfast. You are all hungry after the moving.”

Scott jumped up to follow her into the kitchen. “We made these really flat pancakes the kids really liked with this tasty red jam stuff. You guys’ll love ‘em!”

Maria snickered and said something about lingonberries. Natasha just shook her head. “At least the furniture isn’t Ikea.”


	24. Chapter 24

Steve enjoyed the feeling of Natasha’s warm breath against his skin as she slept snuggled against his side. The skin to skin contact was pretty great, too. They’d been up late with Maria, Sam and Sharon, going through the increasing amount of material coming to light about the Monaco Incident, as the media had rather unimaginatively dubbed it. Sharon had pointed out that at least European news bureaus didn’t automatically attach a ‘–gate’ to the end of any and every story with even a hint of cover-up, which Steve agreed was one of the quirkier things he’d encountered while studying recent history.

Pushing everything but the present out of his mind, he twirled a lock of Natasha’s blonde hair around his fingers, letting it slip smoothly between them. She hadn’t been recognized yet, but she had shrugged with resignation when he’d pointed that out, saying it was only a matter of time. He was hoping it happened for purely selfish reasons; if blonde hair was no longer a disguise, she might go back to her natural color. He concealed a laugh about his shallowness behind a cough.

She didn’t wake, but shifted enough for her hair to fall off her neck. Her sutures had been removed, but the cuts on her neck were still the raw, reddish-purple of healing wounds, the small holes where the silk thread had passed through just scabbed over. He hated that she had these new marks as a direct result of his own failure to be there for her. Rather than tracing his finger over them, which he imagined would hurt, he caressed another scar he felt responsible for. The bullet Bucky had put through her shoulder years ago in DC had left a neat, circular entry through her back, which he was currently touching, and a jagged exit on her chest, which occasionally distracted him from her breasts. From his current angle, he couldn’t see the other through and through scar Bucky had given her, but…

Wait.

“Nat? Natasha, wake up.” The thought he’d just had couldn’t wait. How had it never occurred to him before? He gently shook her shoulder. “Nat, come on.”

“Five more minutes before…no, an hour. An hour before you’re allowed to do that.” She batted his hand away from where he had unconsciously cupped her breast. “I know you need less sleep than we mere mortals, but even you must…”

He interrupted her, “Did you sign the Accords because of Bucky?”

The look she gave him made him wish he’d never made the connection. “I signed because I made a huge fucking mistake,” she replied slowly and deliberately as she pulled away from him, pushing herself into a sitting position against the headboard. She stared at him defiantly, but her body language screamed defensive as she held the covers tightly against her body and drew her knees up. “And I signed before we even knew where he was, so no, my misreading of the situation had nothing to do with him.”

“Nat, I just…” He tried to pull her back into his arms, but she shied away from him. That was far more painful than the bullet graze he’d taken to his head a few days before. “Sorry, but I just…the thought popped into my head and I wanted to know.”

She remained firmly on her side of the bed, but at least she wasn’t reaching for any of the weapons he knew were within easy reach. “Why? What brought this on?”

“I don’t know!”

“You mean haven’t been waiting to spring the big question about why I picked the opposite side since you ogled me in Ajaccio?”

“Well, I was so happy to see you at first that I didn’t think to bring it up and then we were focused on the mission and fleeing and we’re finally safe and…” he trailed off as he realized he needed to explain and fast. “I just…I wasn’t waiting to demand you explain _anything_. I know you did what you thought was right and that if we needed to talk about it, we’d get to it.”

“So now that we’re settling in and feeling safe, it’s time to talk about it?”

“It’s not that at all!” he protested. “I trust you and I always have, even when we made different choices. I was just watching you sleep and I was looking at the scars on your neck and I started thinking about your other scars and I suddenly wondered if one of the reasons you signed the Accords was so you wouldn’t have to choose sides when I found Bucky, because, I mean…you knew I wouldn’t stop looking and that I’d eventually find him, right?”

“Steve, I didn’t sign because of you or because I really hate it when your sometimes brainwashed best friend tries to kill me or because I somehow agree with Stark on nearly any level. I signed because…” Her posture loosened ever so slightly. “Do you remember when I told you that I thought I was going straight when I joined SHIELD?”

The memory of her in Sam’s guest bedroom, broken by Fury’s supposed death and Hydra’s control of SHIELD, rose in his mind. Strange that he had felt closer to her then than he had on most of the occasions when they’d spent the night together at Avengers’ HQ. She had been so honest for a few moments, giving him a glimpse of the woman who really only pretended to know everything and feel nothing. He didn’t allow her shrinking away to deter him from embracing her this time. “You thought signing the Accords would bring that back for you. You wanted everyone to look at you and see…” His heart broke a little as she stopped resisting him. “Nat, you are a hero, and you don’t need anyone to notice for it to be true.”

“I did if…never mind.”

“Natasha…”

“I guess it doesn’t matter as much now that you’re an international fugitive, but…imagine what’s going to happen when the world finds out that you put yourself at risk to do the right thing even though you knew that you were risking your own freedom. When Scott gives us the rundown tomorrow, there’s going to be a lot of people arguing about how you’re still Captain America, in spite of everything. But me? I’ll still be me. People will look at what happened in Monaco and say how amazing it is that you convinced the Russian assassin to do the right thing and save the world one more time.”

“Then I’ll…”

“You’ll nothing, Steve!” Her arms were suddenly wrapped around him, her nails digging into his skin. “You have to protect yourself and Sam and Wanda and Scott and…God, Clint’s whole family, because I would _destroy_ you if I thought I couldn’t trust you with the kids and…stop holding me!” In spite of her declaration, she continued to clutch him against her. “I’m not the woman you should be with!”

He pulled her tighter against his chest. “You need to stop caring what everyone will think about us.”

“I care what they’re going to think of _you_. You’re the one ripe for the redemption narrative. I can already hear the cheers when you save the world the next time aliens attack.”

“And you’ll be there with me, kicking just as much ass.” He ignored her murmur of ‘Language,’ continuing, “I love you, Natasha. That’s not gonna change whether we’re fugitives or heroes or both. I just want us to be together.”

“Love you, too.” She finally relaxed in his embrace. “Though I’m not entirely clear why you thought Barnes had anything to do with the choice I made. Hell, the fact that I made an entirely selfish decision while you made one that benefited both your friends and humanity…huh. Maybe I should question your judgment, sometimes.”

“I was the one who thought it was smart to bring up…” Steve sighed, wishing he hadn’t raised the issue of his frozen friend, but if they were going to talk about heavy topics… “It wasn’t really about Bucky or the Accords or…it’s your scars.” His fingertips ghosted over the marks on her neck and shoulder. “You got these because I wasn’t there to protect you, just like this one.”

She swatted his hand away as he tried to touch the scar from DC. “Stop. We’re not going over this again. You did your best, just like you always do. Besides, you should be apologizing to me for making me think you were dead.”

“Nat…”

“ _Have_ you apologized for that yet?” Her smile was coy but her touch was gentle as she ran her fingers through his hair, tracing over the spot that would have been a scar on anyone else. “Say you’re sorry for getting shot in the head.”

“I’m sorry for getting shot in the head,” he said obediently, wondering why he’d doubted her, even for a moment.

“I guess it’s a good sign that you finally think we’re safe enough to start deep relationship conversations.”

“To be fair, you agreed to be my girlfriend while we were still aboard the ship, so…” He ducked to catch her lips in a sweet kiss that promised to go further until they were interrupted by a knock on the door. He sighed, making sure they were adequately covered by the blankets before calling out, “Yes?”

The door was cracked open as Scott stuck his head in. “Hey, sorry. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Steve realized that he was still holding Natasha against him and that they were both naked, though under the covers. Before he could complete his analysis as Scott looked at them expectantly, Natasha prompted, “Did something happen?”

“Right, they’ve pretty much figured out that the whole Monaco Incident was a joint Cap-Widow operation, some guy named Melon-head got arrested in the hospital and he’s talking, like, a lot, and Fury is thinking about holding a press conference, so I have to wake up Agent Hill next.” He flashed a double thumbs-up. “We good?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Steve replied as the door closed. “Did he say Fury wants to have a press conference?”

“That’s probably just to make sure Maria actually gets out of bed.” Natasha tossed the sheets aside, scooting toward the edge of the bed. He moved to follow, if only to get his hands on her for a few more seconds. She leaned into his touch for a moment before saying, “You owe me a bath.”

“Shouldn’t we…” His protest caught in his throat as she stood and sauntered toward the bathroom, shooting him a glance over her shoulder that was dripping with invitation. It was a heck of a shift from the conversation they’d been having a few minutes before, but if this was the kind of reassurance she wanted or needed… He didn’t manage to gather his wits until she had disappeared into the bathroom and started the water running. He was proud of the fact that he got out of bed without faceplanting when he got tangled in the covers in spite of the blood rushing from his brain to his growing erection.

Steam was just starting to fog the mirror when he walked into the bathroom. His breath caught in his chest as he saw Natasha sitting on the rim of the tub, dragging one hand through the fluffy white bubbles as the water level rose while her other hand moved between her thighs. She gave him a smirk that guaranteed he locked the door and checked it twice before moving toward her. He leaned down to kiss her as she turned off the tap. Her tongue lapped over his bottom lip as she pulled back to whisper, “Get in.”

“Nat…” He nearly jumped into the tub after she gave him a firm, warm, wet stroke with the hand she pulled from the water. She was in his lap a moment later, back pressed against his chest and pulling him into a kiss over her shoulder. His hips bucked up and he thrusted between her thighs. It was so warm and hot and… He made a strangled, desperate sound as she grasped him and positioned him, sinking down and enveloping him inside her a moment later.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her flush against him for a few seconds before pulling back and beginning a slow rhythm that had him dropping his head back on the rim of the tub where she had thoughtfully folded a towel as a cushion. “Oh, Natasha…”

Her teeth tugged gently at his beard as she kissed up his neck and along his jawline, never ceasing the bounce of her hips, squeezing him inside her at the deepest point of every thrust. He let his hand drop between her legs to seek out her bundle of nerves. He swallowed her moan when he touched the right spot, kissing her for all he was worth. He increased the tempo of his hips along with the pressure of his fingers. It had been less than a week since they’d last made love, but it almost felt like forever with how much he wanted her.

Her soft moans grew louder as he pressed into her again and again, struggling to maintain his restraint in spite of the tightness pulling at his lower belly. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer if she didn’t let go and he was determined that she feel…

“Oh, Steve!” she cried out, clenching around him and prompting him to fully chase own orgasm while he encouraged her through hers. His thighs shuddered as he was overcome, sending another cascade of soapy water over the rim of the tub. He leaned back after a final thrust, feeling her relax on top of him. Her head dropped onto his shoulder as she purred, “That was amazing.”

“So amazing,” he agreed. She shifted in his lap, sending an unexpected aftershock of pleasure through him as she turned to face him. “I love you, Nat.”

 “Love you.” Her fingers toyed with the hair at the back of his neck.

“We should probably think about getting downstairs.”

“Nope.” She ran some more water into the tub to warm it up. “We’re staying right here for more makeup sex.”

“That was makeup sex, huh?”

“Don’t start picking fights with me just to get it,” she murmured against his lips, combing her fingernails through his beard. “I really wasn’t thinking about you when I signed the Accords. That was my biggest mistake, other than signing, I mean.”

“Nat, I…”

“Shh. I’m trying to tell you that I know I can’t do that anymore. We’re together and I owe it to you to consider your feelings before I…I won’t make that mistake again, Steve.”

“You didn’t…”

“I did. I love you and I will never…”

The bathroom doorknob suddenly rattled. Maria’s unamused voice carried through a moment later, “If I don’t get time off for private activities, neither do you.”

Steve ignored Natasha’s laugh as she sucked over the pulse on his neck. “We’ll be there in five…” he gulped as she ground her hips down against his, “twenty minutes.”

“You think I can’t pick this lock?”

“Aw, you wanna watch, Maria?” Natasha teased.

“ _No_ , but I will.”

To Steve’s surprise, Natasha stood and grabbed for a towel, wrapping it around her midsection before opening the door. “It’s your own fault that you and Sam haven’t done the deed yet.” There was inaudible conversation for a few moments before Natasha asked loudly, “You’re gonna stay and watch me get dressed?”

“Yes, and then I’m going to walk downstairs with you because I don’t trust you not to go right back to whatever you and Steve were doing when I came in.”

“You used to be cool, Maria.”

“No I didn’t. Now get some pants on.”

Steve shook his head but stayed in the tub until the two women left the bedroom. He quickly dried off and dressed before making his way downstairs, where most of the team was gathered in the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I meant for this one to be longer and better, but I wanted to get it out before I leave for vacation. No update for a few weeks as a result. Promise I'll be back at it soon!


	25. Chapter 25

When Steve arrived downstairs, most of the team was assembled in the command center/living room, discussing the latest developments being reported by the media. He didn’t see Natasha right away, but she attracted his attention when she waved to him from the kitchen. As he walked in, he realized she was sharing a bottle of champagne with Anna, who filled a third delicate flute and handed it to him. “You are deserving this.”

“We’re celebrating Yakushev’s death,” Natasha clarified as she clinked her glass against the one he accepted from Anna. “They just identified him on the news.”

“I am trusting Natalia that he is being dead, of course, but I am waiting for the independent confirmation, like the good Red Room аппаратчик I was being.”

“Sure.” Steve nodded and took a sip of the champagne, the bubbles immediately fizzing up his nose and behind his eyes, creating a pleasant buzz in his head in spite of his alcohol tolerance. “Not a very popular guy.”

“I was liking Yuri,” Anna replied, her eyes assuming a darkness Steve recognized from Natasha’s infrequent mentions of her former life. It cleared when she laughed a moment later. “But it is good now. Natalia is safe and happy and has the sexy дружок.” She gave him a significant look, then drained her glass and set it on the counter. “Ah, this is good. My stomach is warm. Now I am helping Kusti with the chickens. He is always breaking the eggs with his big hands.” She shot an exaggerated wink at Natasha and strode out of the room.

“Why do I feel like I just missed something?” Steve asked, slipping his arm around Natasha’s shoulders and pulling her close as she topped off both of their glasses to empty the bottle.

“Oh, y’know what they say. Big hands, large…gloves.” She raised an eyebrow as she sipped her champagne, leaving him feeling like he wanted to carry her back upstairs. When he leaned in to press a kiss against her cheek, she had already moved on, saying, “They’re still reporting nine dead, confirmation on Yakushev and van Rooyen, plus some other dealers and bodyguards. So far, they’ve named Platkov, Durin, Nvritsky, Boucher and Elliott. There are two others who have yet to be named, plus those in Interpol custody whose names won’t be released for a while.”

He took a moment to process the information. “I met Boucher,” he eventually replied, scratching his beard thoughtfully. He hadn’t liked the man, but he certainly hadn’t wished death on him. It wasn’t that Boucher had been particularly… _anything_. It was just one of those unsettling things; you talk to a man one moment and the next… “He was the one I, uh, I told him your dress would look better on the bedroom floor,” he managed to blurt before he thought better of it.

She was unaffected by his admission. “Right, I saw you talking to him before the lights went out. You barely blushed when you fed him the line. Your beard really covers it.” She nodded slowly as she sipped her drink. He was expecting further suggestive commentary on his beard when she said, “I think I may have given him fake CPR.”

“You…what?” He didn’t even bother trying to hide his confusion. “Huh?”

“It was when you were out cold. I crawled away and found a dead body to fuss over in case Yakushev and his people were using night vision.”

“That’s…kind of disturbing.” He tried to take a sip of champagne to buy himself time to think, but his glass stopped halfway to his mouth as he realized the meaning of what she’d done. “You were protecting me. I was unconscious and you were protecting me.”

She was unnervingly calm as she said, “I was taking the time to analyze the situation, which included diverting attention from my unconscious partner, yes.”

“Nat…” He didn’t want her to think he undervalued her in any way, but he wasn’t sure how to thank her or compliment her diversionary tactics. He settled for a simple, “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” He liked that for someone who hadn’t even said the words until a few days ago, she had certainly picked up the habit quickly. She finished what was left in her own glass before taking his and polishing it off, too. “Let’s get caught up on the rest of the news, hm?”

Moments later, they were standing behind the crowded sofa, watching a repeated loop of Heinrich Mellinger giving a hospital bed interview over a Skype connection before he was interrupted by Interpol agents in full SWAT gear. “…so he’s connected to African dictators and private army generals and whoever else that now want to kill him since he’s talking to Interpol, probably spilling his guts on everything he knows about everyone,” Sharon summarized from her seat behind a computer at the command table as they watched the clip again. “What I don’t get is why he was talking to Al Jazeera.”

Maria shrugged a shoulder from her own spot at her laptop. “Al Jazeera can be a surprisingly objective news source.”

“No, I know that, I just meant why is he talking to _them_ rather than the BBC or Euronews or something that would reach more people judging him _here_.”

“Sympathetic portrayal?” Sam suggested, looking over his shoulder from his seat on the couch. “I mean, most of the people watching in his operational area would get Al Jazeera, right?” He paused but didn’t wait for confirmation before continuing, “Besides, the guy is saying he got in on the buy so he could stop worse people from getting nukes, which would make sense if the world didn’t already know he’s a sleazy arms dealer and that there were Avengers on the scene. Maybe he doesn’t know about Steve and Nat yet and he thinks he’ll look like a humanitarian.”

“Hey, why is it cannibal and not humanitarian?” Scott asked out of nowhere. “Y’know, like vegetarians eat vegetables, so humanitarians would eat…?”

“We got it, TicTac. Stop stealing bits from old stand-up routines.”

“Really? Someone already came up with that?”

“Probably. Sounds like something that would’ve been stale by ’92 or so.”

Steve tuned out the team’s continuing conversation, focusing his attention on the wall-mounted flat screen as Natasha leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Mellinger (who Steve was still annoyed they hadn’t arrested on the streets of Monaco) was no longer speaking on live TV, but the interview he’d managed to get out before his Interpol arrest was playing on all the major networks, so there was no longer much importance attached to who he’d contacted first. He was claiming that van Rooyen had offered plutonium for sale and he, Mellinger, had planned to buy it and turn it over to the authorities out of purely altruistic reasons.

Steve shook his head as Mellinger said, “Rogue forces should never have access to the most powerful weapons ever devised by man.” It wasn’t that he disagreed with the sentiment, just the sincerity of the source. Natasha’s arms tightened around him as he tensed, allowing him to relax into her touch. It was more comforting than he had anticipated. He gave himself a few moments to enjoy it before turning his attention back toward the television.

Mellinger’s interview was replaced by a stoic anchorman in a dark suit. “For those of you just joining us, that was Heinrich Mellinger speaking in a recorded interview from his hospital bed as he recovers from injuries sustained during the gun battle at the Casino de Monte-Carlo. Before his arrest by Interpol agents, he made the disturbing claim that the shootout was the result of a soured arms deal for weapons-grade nuclear material. We are unable to confirm the veracity of his claims from Interpol or other governmental sources at this time, though we have information from another source from inside the casino who claims to have been employed by Adem van Rooyen, the organizer of the alleged sale who was killed in the shootout…”

“That’ll be Salazar the gorilla,” Maria interjected. “Interpol picked him up outside Nice a few hours ago.”

“How many other arrests have they made?” Natasha asked, distracting Steve’s attention from the television with the play of her fingers under the hem of his t-shirt.

“There are quite a few people currently handcuffed to hospital beds in Monaco, yeah.” Maria’s eyes moved rapidly as she read over whatever was on her screen. “It’s either twelve or fifteen, depending on whose data I trust. If it helps, I think you two were the only ones to actually make it out of the auction.”

“Good. How’d they ID me?”

“Fingerprints in the car.”

“I really wish my prints hadn’t been included with the SHIELD file dump.”

“You’re the one who…” Maria suddenly held up her hand. “Message from Fury. Interpol is willing to publicly admit they dropped the ball on the plutonium sale and the intervention of Steve and Natasha prevented it from ending up in the wrong hands…”

A cheer went up from around the room.

“ _But_ ,” Maria continued, “you’re all still wanted fugitives at the moment, regardless of recent world saving. Fury’s headed to New York to talk with the UN Security Council, so we just have to sit tight and keep our heads down until we hear from him again.”

Steve nodded and looked around the group. He suddenly realized that all eyes were on him. He cleared his throat and took a half-step away from Natasha, who had dropped her arms. This was the moment for his leadership rather than his relationship to take center stage. He cleared his throat. “Well…well, it looks like we’re back in the news again. At the very least, the Avengers just showed the world it can still count on us to do the right thing. I can’t predict the future, but right now the most important thing is that we’re safe and we’re together. It’s not perfect, but…it’s what we’ve got.”

“Hey, we’ve also got a quinjet with stealth capabilities, so there’s nothing to stop us from keeping on doing the right thing when we can,” Sam added. He was quickly joined by a chorus of agreement.

Steve looked carefully around the room, trying to determine any hint of hesitation in his team’s expressions but not finding it. Even Sharon looked as if she was ready to sign on for the long haul. He finally came to Natasha, who was giving him an encouraging smile. He nodded, hoping he was reading her encouragement correctly. “I didn’t want to make commitments without everyone’s consent, but…welcome to the new Avengers HQ, I guess.”

There was a moment of silence before Clint stood and clapped his hands together loudly. “Whelp, I’ll go tell Laura and the kids the good news about the new homestead.” He waved off Steve’s instinct to protest. “Half an hour here proved I was gonna have to plan to get some of those mini ponies when we move back anyway if I didn’t want Lila to hate me before her teen years, so it’s not gonna hurt to learn all the ins and outs of having ‘em.” He clapped Steve’s shoulder as he walked past, adding a squeeze and a significant look. “The family likes it here. Even Mildred likes it here. And Anna already told me I can add archery targets to the gun range.”

Scott walked over next, before Steve had time to think about how the Bartons’ donkey was adjusting. “Proud to be here, Cap.” He reached out and tapped Steve’s shoulders. “Still wow. Okay.” He withdrew his touch after a nervous glance at Natasha. “I’m just…maybe I’ll go help Clint with the ponies.”

Wanda followed in Scott’s wake and pulled Steve into a hug. She pecked his cheek and whispered, “We are with you no matter what.” She disappeared into the kitchen after pulling Natasha into a (quick, awkward) hug as well.

Sharon looked up from her computer. “I’m in the middle of something, so even if I’m fine with being here and glad I didn’t sign a new lease on my apartment, is it okay if I don’t say something then leave?”

“Um, sure.” Steve wasn’t entirely clear on why everyone else had cleared out, even if it had been a kind of satisfying conclusion. “Glad to have you on board.”

“Don’t get all sappy on us, Cap.” Sam chuckled, not leaving his spot on the couch, though he did turn his head. “And thanks for hookin’ us up with the new digs, Nat.” His eyes darkened as his gaze shifted to Maria. “Good to have us all here.”

“Yeah, it is,” Maria replied, flashing him an almost unnoticeable wink that had him grinning. “Besides, Steve’s a better boss than Stark and Fury combined. Hope that’s not affected by facial hair.”

“Unless you’re planning to shave Sam in his sleep,” Natasha said, ignoring Sam’s concerned gasp, “you don’t get to complain about the glorious beard.” She stroked a hand over Steve’s apparently transcendent facial hair before slipping her arms around his waist again. She tugged him around the sofa so they could both sit with Sam to watch the news a little longer. He was about to suggest they could head back upstairs when she sat up a little straighter. “Hey, look who’s on TV.”

Steve frowned slightly at the footage as a crowd of reporters shoved microphones and recording devices into Tony’s tensely grinning face outside a coffee shop in New York. “Mr. Stark, what do you know about Captain America and Black Widow in Monaco?”

“Nothing.” His sunglasses weren’t so opaque that a person who knew him couldn’t tell his smile for the cameras didn’t reach his eyes. “I had Professor Plum in the conservatory with the candlestick.”

“But, Mr. Stark, the Avengers…”

“Hey, if the Avengers get called out, you’ll find out then. For now, lemme get my latte.”

“Mr. Stark, if Captain America and Black Widow are working together…”

“Yeah, well, as you may have heard, they’re international fugitives, so it’s been a while since I heard from them on the groupchat. Go bug the UN if you want a statement, ‘cause I got nothin’.” He pushed his way through the still shouting reporters toward a car, shortly followed by a woman holding a tray of coffees.

Natasha made a surprised sound. “When did Stark and Pepper get back together?”

“Last month,” Maria replied. “Poor woman has a Tony Stark-sized blind spot in her common sense.”

“Love, huh?” Natasha nuzzled her nose into Steve’s beard as she pressed a soft kiss against his neck. “Crazy.”

He wasn’t about to argue.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! So, this semester has totally kicked my ass. If you love hearing about how your totally correct answer is actually wrong because it isn't the MOST correct answer, nursing school may be for you! Anyway, I told myself I wasn't allowed to see Infinity War unless I actually finished the last chapter of this fic, so here we are! Apparently all I needed was the proper motivation and a small gap between classes and finals!

_One Year Later_

Steve self-consciously adjusted his tie as Natasha parked their car in the short driveway outside a cheerful English cottage in the Cotswolds, about fifteen minutes outside Bath. Of all the gala dinners and official meetings and government events they’d been to over the past few months now that the Avengers were back in the world’s good graces, this was one of the few he’d been most anticipating and dreading.

It had taken less time than the team had anticipated for Steve and Natasha to be traced back to the cruise ship, putting the people they’d interacted with at the center of a fairly unpleasant investigation. Kevin and Barbara Harrison had been detained in Naples for three days, later going on what seemed like every single show on US television to describe the ‘lousy excuse for Italian food’ (Barbara’s words) they’d been forced to endure while being asked endless questions about their ‘hot neighbors who were always boning’ (Kevin’s words, before the _Today_ anchor could cut him off – the phrase had only been uttered in that particular interview). They’d ultimately been cleared and allowed to return home, where they enjoyed a brief bout of celebrity in Jersey City.

As for their other onboard acquaintances…

Steve readjusted his tie _again_ before checking his hair in the mirror and combing his fingers through his beard to ensure it wasn’t too wild; he’d given himself a trim a few weeks ago after too many ‘Thor Jr’ jokes from Tony, so it was back to about what it had looked like a year ago. Public opinion went back and forth about Captain America’s beard, but he’d pretty much put that out of his mind at Natasha’s insistence (and encouragement to keep it). He still had no idea why Quinnipiac was even polling about his beard.

“Hey.” He looked up and met her knowing gaze as she pushed his hands away from the knot of his tie. “We’re here completely undercover and by special invitation, remember? Hell, we drove this car off the stealth quinjet we landed in a sheep pasture owned by the Wakandan royal government. No press, no pretention.”

“I know.” He couldn’t help but think this Range Rover looked exactly like the one Maria had been driving in Monaco when he’d tried to prevent Natasha from bleeding out in the back seat, even if it was right-hand drive. He unconsciously reached for a steering wheel that wasn’t in front of him. “I just…”

His anxieties were cut off by an excited voice, “Steve! Natasha! How wonderful you’ve come!” Dorrie bustled down the path between the flowering shrubs of the garden with a bright smile on her face. He had just stepped out of the car when she pulled him into an embrace, the handle of her cane digging into his back only slightly. “Welcome! Welcome to our home!”

“I’m so glad you invited us,” he replied sincerely, returning the hug with pure affection. His worries about this meeting being anything less than a genuine friendly meal were immediately relieved. The moment she let him go, he reached back into the car to retrieve an orange and white striped box. Junior’s was just a few blocks from their new townhouse in Fort Greene and he and Sam (who was living with them ‘temporarily’) had been binging on American foods for the past two months. “We brought a dessert. Genuine New York cheesecake, straight from Brooklyn.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to do that! Tom, look!” She held up the box to display it even though Tom had just joined her and was shaking Steve’s hand.

“All right, then?”

Steve launched into the apology he’d been preparing for the past week, since the plans had been finalized, “I’m really, really sorry that you two and Ann and her family got involved in the whole Monaco operation and fallout and I…” He glanced at Natasha, just getting out of the SUV before correcting, “ _We_ just feel terrible about…”

“Ah, nonsense,” Tom cut him off with a slap on the shoulder. “You should’ve heard the lads at the last reunion, asking me all about Captain America! And since we’ve returned the barman at the local won’t let me pay for my first pint, no matter the occasion!”

“Guess I can leave the wine and Scotch in the car, then,” Natasha quipped as she circled around the car carrying two bottles.

“Well, if you let the cat out of the bag like that…” Tom accepted one of the bottles she handed him before pulling her into a one-armed hug. “Good to see you, love.”

Dorrie wrapped up Natasha in a hug as well, saying, “Oh, it’s so nice to see you in person and not just on the telly, dear. I’ve been waiting ever so long to tell you how nice you look as a redhead! I mean, you were a lovely blonde as well, but the red is just so…daring.”

“It is my natural color,” she replied, running her fingers through it with a glance at Steve. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until she walked out of the bathroom after dyeing it once her roots had started to grow out shortly after they’d moved to Sweden. Clint had nearly bashed down their door reminding them to be quiet for the sake of the kids.  

“Of course, of course.” Dorrie seemed to be bursting with excitement. “But come in, come in! Silly to be gabbing in the drive when we could be having drinks in the lounge!”

Steve slipped his arm around Natasha’s shoulders, his fingers briefly tangling in her hair as they walked into the house. He adored her natural color, as he knew he’d demonstrated over the past few months. His hand remained in the hair at the nape of her neck until they sat in wing-backed chairs upholstered in shiny white fabric he worried about staining as Tom handed him a scotch on the rocks poured from an open bottle. Steve raise his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip. “Glenlivet. You remembered.”

“Aye, not about to forget Captain America’s preference. Acquired a taste for it myself over the past months. Dorrie kept a fair stock on hand just in case you turned up.”

Steve flinched slightly. “I really am sorry we weren’t able to get here sooner, but with everything going on…”

“I’m just teasing, man!” Tom exclaimed. “My, but you do take things seriously!”

“Oh, Tom, do be kind. Steve is just a gentleman!” Dorrie offered a plate of cookies, from which he took a jam-filled thing. She also handed Natasha a glass of wine. Although he knew she would have preferred something stronger, he caught her eye to offer support. There wasn’t much he wanted to argue while they were here and she was driving, after all. “We’ve been following the story right along, haven’t we, Tom? I’ve learned all about the YouTube so I could watch all your interviews! We watched all the United Nations proceedings, of course, being on your side the whole way and…”

“We got your card, by the way,” Steve interrupted, feeling slightly guilty about the lie. There had been thousands upon thousands of pieces of physical mail – many people apparently appreciated his aversion to email – and he had made a guess that  “Thank you so much for that support.”

Dorrie clapped her hands together. “We weren’t sure you’d get it, but I’m so pleased it went through!”

For her part, Natasha raised an eyebrow to his successful deception but just bit into a shortbread biscuit before grinning and asking, “What about the two of you? We’re used to the attention even if we don’t like it, but how have you been coping with the media attention?”

“Eh, bit tiresome at first, but they got bored after a few months,” Tom offered with a shrug. “Cottagers don’t offer much excitement to the BBC, I’m afraid, so we’ve not seen the cameras here for months.”

“And Ann? How is she?” Steve interjected, trying not to sound too desperate for confirmation that he hadn’t ruined their daughter’s life. “And her family?”

“Oh, things are going about as usual,” Tom said with an offhand gesture. “MI-6 was quite keen to forget the whole affair, considering they didn’t even know about the situation with the bombs. Our Annie was able to plead ignorance, as she doesn’t deal with the top secret things. They even gave her a bit of a raise to stay mum on the subject.”

“That’s not why, Tom!” Dorrie interrupted. “She’s just terribly proficient at her job, that’s all. But you’re awfully sweet to be concerned about her, Steve.”

“It was our fault that…”

“Stuff and nonsense! You saved us all from a terrorist attack!” Although news reports hadn’t been accurate about the exact events in Monaco, the recovery of nuclear material by rogue Avengers had certainly been a point of emphasis for the media. Dorrie continued, “Even if the government didn’t believe your information, you did the right thing! You’re true heroes, no doubt!”

Steve found himself blushing. “Well…”

“No need for modesty, lad,” Tom said, refilling Steve’s glass. “You did a brave thing not being sure you had proper backup, just because it was right. Our Annie made the same argument to her supervisors. If the people meant to protect civilians can’t be bothered to do their duty, we should count ourselves lucky we’ve a plan B. Besides, Philip has his first girlfriend as a result of his exciting story from Monaco. It’s all sorted in the end.”

Steve wasn’t sure how Dorrie and Tom’s grandson’s girlfriend justified an international incident, but Natasha was laughing with them, so it was probably okay. Really, he was just happy they were welcome in the couple’s home after all the unwelcome and unexpected attention they’d received. Steve offered to help in the kitchen when Dorrie sprang up to check a beeping timer, but she waved him off. “Don’t you worry a moment, dear. It’s just the call for the chicken to come out and settle a bit.”

He settled down as the day went on, eventually forgetting that he’d met Dorrie by accident while trying to find Natasha in Corsica. It seemed like no time at all until they were hugging the couple in the driveway as they said goodbye. Steve gave Dorrie a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for having us. I’m…I’m really just glad you’re okay.”

She rested her hands on his cheeks, looking up at him with an adoring smile. “That goes double for you, dear. And we’ll be ever so pleased when we read the wedding announcement.” She turned toward Natasha with a knowing look. Sure enough, the chain on which she usually wore her engagement ring had appeared outside her shirt collar at some point. The diamond shone in the sunset. “We’ll not mention it to anyone in the meantime.”

He gave her another kiss on the cheek. “Guess I owe you another one.”

“Nonsense. But don’t be a stranger.”

He waved from the car window until Natasha had pulled out of the driveway and driven down the lane. Relaxing back in his seat for the short ride back to the jet, he said, “I’m glad we did this.”

Natasha smirked. He knew her well enough to take that as an ‘I told you so.’

“Don’t suppose this was an accident,” he went on, reaching over to tuck her necklace back under her collar.

She swatted his hand away. “I was actually thinking we should…I mean, we can’t actually get married and expect not to stir up a media circus, so if we tell everyone sometime soon…”

“Nat…yes. Yes!” He managed to keep his happiness under control until she drove up the ramp into their quinjet, at which point he nearly leaped into her lap to kiss her. “Whenever you’re ready…”

“Easy, tiger.” She managed to wiggle out of the driver’s seat. “One condition.”

“Name it.”

“We’re not taking a cruise for the honeymoon.”

He ignored the urge to joke about that bringing them back together in the first place. “Done.”

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Again, sorry this took so long to finish, but, hey. At least it's done.


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